A Life Half Lived
by ameliapemerson
Summary: A canon era Mary and Matthew story where love, loyalty, and trust all have their boundaries tested. Ch 25: A divorce and a wedding!
1. Chapter 1:After the Ball

**_A Life Half Lived_**

_This is my secret santa offering to** lady-morgen-crawley** on tumblr. Thank you **Patsan** for organizing the secret santa exchange again this year! _

_This is the first chapter of the long canon era fic I've been promising myself to write for a long time now. I've gone back and forth in my mind and played around with plot and angst and what to do... and now's the time to just start it. I wrote a middle section chapter in August **(**_**Where My Heart Truly Rests**_) __which I'm going to label separately now... but it can be read a preparation for the much longer story now in progress._

_It is about the Great War...so some of it is going to be graphic (coarse language, graphic descriptions of battle and blood and wounds). _

_I hope you like it. I hope you leave comments and reviews and ideas and critiques! Thanks!_

XX

The mud. The stinking mud. The fucking, stinking mud. Matthew scowled. He sank into the mud knee deep. His puttees, his boots, and his uniform indistinguishable in the brown muck.

Wiped his brow only to have the muck get in his eyes. The dripping rain down on his Brodie helmet. He could barely see. His gloves were filthy.

He had stepped onto the ladder where his boots came out from under him. He fell back down into the mud.

He sighed. 'Hell was the mud' had become a saying among the soldiers.

Ever present. It squelched in his boots.

It sucked. It drew you in like quick sands. Over his knees. Viscous. Tenacious. Determined never to be cleaned. It invaded every crevice of his skin. Slimy.

A nightmare.

Along with the complementary wet. And cold. And the rats. Coming out by the hundreds. Especially at night.

His unit was supposed to be relieved two days ago. Time to go back to the reserve line. To give everyone some rest. And to get clean. And to survive again until it was their time to return.

But the rail lines had broken down. And with it their relief for another two days.

He squinted through his wet eyelashes again. He was supposed to be readying two young subalterns for their first reconnaissance.

But the exhaustion, mind numbing exhaustion . He could not think straight. Unwanted thoughts ticked in his head. Of another life. A life he could hardly believed existed much less a life that he existed in.

He frowned. A deep, down to the bone marrow frown.

A frown he wasn't sure would ever change to a smile again.

XX  
_The lights, lit by the new electrics, shone down on the dance floor. The dancers, in unison circled that floor. The dance was a waltz. Not the new variations on the waltz like the hesitation waltz or the dream waltz, invented and popularized by the Castles, but the Viennese that demanded a formal distance between the partners._

_Distance Matthew found a chasm in his need to touch Mary._

_For he could now touch her. She was… he swallowed to not get too far ahead of himself…almost… his fiancée._

_But because of Sybil's coming out. Because of the London Season, he had authorization to touch her. On the dance floor. Where it was permissible for a young man to take a girl's hand and touch. Interact. Talk. In private._

_Intimate._

_Yet even so, Matthew longed to leave. The Flintshire ball tried his nerves. Some of the other parties in the London season allowed for the new American dances. The Bunny Hug and the Lame Duck with their face to face time and the deep dip at the end._

_He longed to dip Mary on the dance floor. Her long back arching in his arms. Catching her. Bringing her back and feeling her breath on his face. _

_Perhaps even attempt the Tango._

_The endless series of parties, galas, and balls he lost count. They had been introduced as the heir to the Grantham estate Matthew Crawley Esq. and the Lady Mary Crawley. The assumption of an engagement made by all._

_He had asked the question over a late night impromptu wine and sandwiches after Sybil's run in with some hooligans. They had a lot to thank Sybil for._

_"Oh Matthew, what am I always telling you. You must pay no attention to the things I say." Her gaze on his. He had kissed her, or she had kissed him. Or they had come together in a perfect moment of shared love. Shared need._

_He whispered, "I think I need to be sure of one thing." He paused. She looked expectant._

_"That you will pay attention to the next thing I say." He started to stumble and stopped. _

_"And what is that?" She asked calmly even though her insides were doing somersaults._

_"That I want to marry you. That I think we should spend all the days of our lives together." He looked up, into her eyes. "Mary my darling, will you marry me?"_

_She had kissed him rather than answer. He knew better than to expect an immediate answer. Even though this was what he had been brought to Downton to accomplish. Two years in the making and Mary still wanted him to wait a bit._

_He could wait. He had swallowed his fragile pride and said he would wait. They kissed again. _

_Even so, a month later the question had yet to be answered._

_But Matthew was hoping. Mary gave him no need to worry. Indeed since the kiss after his unexpected proposal, their closeness, their intimacy excited him beyond anything he thought possible._

_He remembered that she was gowned in the new fashion at that last party. She had dared because the Countess Gracemere allowed for it. Oriental with soft drapery, and bold prints, corsetless she taunted him. Teased him. Beguiled him._

_They met in secret while in public._

_Stealing away for a few seconds behind a pillar. Outside on the balcony. Sneaking into a library or a music room. To gossip. To kiss. To embrace._

_To simply exist in the other's space. When she walked through the French doors to the their secret place, he smiled._

_He smiled a smile he didn't think would ever turn to a frown._

XX

Mary was frustrated beyond measure. Frustrated because of her sex. Because of her position in society.

Because she did not feel adequately knowledgeable about world events that found young men from her set going off to fight a war in France for the ludicrously male reason it might be all over by spring.

Or get yourself killed, she thought bitterly. Only she didn't want to think those thoughts.

One day it all been Ireland and Home Rule and the potential for civil conflict.

Now one bullet, the death of an heir to a throne, and political and strategic and jingoistic machinations all lead to the disintegration of the life she had known.

And Matthew had left her to join up. How he thought this was something she would be proud of was beyond her.

Yes Matthew, she would mutter bitterly to herself. Go get yourself killed on some foreign battlefield. Of course that's what I want.

They were supposed to be together. Forever. And that required that he live. That they lived happily ever after.

For she had said yes.

After the balls. After her stay with Rosamund, she had answered his question.

She had said yes. Eventually, and in secret to be sure, but she had said yes to him.

They had the entire London season to get to know each other more intimately.

He had loved how she would whisper instructions for secret rendezvous.

She wanted him to love it.

She had noticed his boredom during the doldrums of the mid-Season. And she wanted to rebuild some of the exciting momentum. She had whispered, "midnight in the sun room" as he had whisked her around the floor before he had been snatched away by Lady Flintshire herself for another of the sedate waltzes that so grated his nerves.

He had been prompt.

Had dashed in right as the clock struck. She was in the shadows.

He knew she was there.

Their lips met in a kiss, fierce and searing. Intense in its quickness. Hard and needy. That was the game. To give each other a taste of delights to come. To tempt societal reprimand to satiate their desire.

To see if they were indeed right for each other.

"You are so beautiful this evening." He felt along her back. He could feel her spinal column. He could feel the natural curve of her waist. He stopped before his hands roamed too far down.

That was agony. He wanted to feel her. All of her. Her skin against his skin.

For that she needed to say yes. Once she said yes, then the wedding. Then all things would be permitted.

Matthew was sure. He believed Mary was also.

She wanted to say yes then. In the privacy. In their intimacy. But she made him wait.

He returned to Downton. She stayed in London.

Rosamund told her bluntly you always want the man more in love with you than you with him. That will keep you in good stead all your life.

Mary knew she wanted more than that. Deserved more than that.

Yet she was as practical as Rosamund. She had to be in her position.

Indeed if Mary asked her more practical self why she said yes, she would admit it was because she wasn't getting any younger. As Rosamund reminded her. As she reminded herself.

And she did love Matthew. He was clever. They got on well together. Despite her personality to never do what was expected of her, she loved him.

She respected that he was not quick to anger at her delay.

Matthew had kept his own counsel during Mary's extended time in London.

He allowed her to wait. While others might have forced an answer from her, he waited.

It made the acceptance that much sweeter. She had said yes under their tree.

He had begun to crack. "Do you love me enough?" He had asked. With agony written on his face. She had taken his stoic silence for granted. Until now.

"Do you not want to be married to someone who'll be a lawyer much longer than he'll ever be an earl?" He was the heir to be sure. But it would be a long wait. And she could have a prince or a duke instead.

But she wanted him. "Yes, Matthew, yes. I want to marry you." The words sang and silenced his doubts.

His voice cracked "my darling, my darling." They kissed in the shade and shelter of the tree. "I must go ask your father now...I .. I really should have done it before but I wasn't able to put voice to your delay. But now..." and he kissed her hand, "now..."

But she stopped him. "Let's wait to tell them. Let's keep it a secret for just a bit longer."

Matthew, confused but too happy to deny her anything, agreed.

Then a few days later came the garden party. And the war announcement.

And again she asked him to keep it a secret. It would now look like they impulsively decided to marry because of the war. Mary said they'd wait until she could tell her parents properly.

It would be for the best.

Doubts seeped into his soul again.

She knew those doubts only when he joined up. He had come to Downton and announced he had joined the Duke of Manchester's Own and he was to report to Sandhurst for officer training. That very evening he was to leave.

She saw him to the door. "Why?" She had wanted to scream at him. To beat her fists against his chest. "Why?"

Instead she stood silent. Her face implacably in place. He would not see her weep.

He kissed her cheek. In front of her parents, on his way out the door, it would be inadvisable to do more. And even that might be seen as an affront. He did it anyway. Soft. Quick. His lips leaving her cheek warm and flushed. He whispered, "This will give you time, my darling." Time to be sure. "I will never divulge our secret until you are ready."

Unspoken was Matthew's thought that in case anything happened to him, she would never be considered any kind of war widow.

Her hand gripped his arm. They stood, locked in each other's eyes for just a moment more.

And then he was gone.

And now she was alone.

XX

_Again...we have a loooong way to go in this story. Please take this journey with me! Thanks. (oh and PS: no Pamuk in this story... it's going in a completely different direction)_


	2. Chapter 2:War Comes to Downton

_The war comes to Downton…_

XX

_Winter. January 1915._

Stale, acrid, musty. Those were not the smells Mary expected from her first reunion with Matthew since he left Downton over three months previous.

And even though it was from the cigarettes he had obviously taken up while at training camp she thought of death.

And that was the last thing she needed. So their first kiss, their first hug was awkward, stilted. She leaned in, he moved his lips towards her, but she imperceptibly demurred using the excuse of the crowd of servants and staff gathered in front of Downton to drive the car or get the bags was not the place for a private moment.

But his mouth had tasted of ashes. And she was afraid. So she turned away.

Matthew sensed her discomfort. Not in front of the servants.

But he had been dreaming about it. Dreaming of Mary for months. The reality of what he had done hit him in the first night away from York. Stupid, idiotic man. He had left in a fit of pique. Had signed up. Had signed his death warrant possibly because he resented Mary's delay. His patience, so long endured in the months between his proposal and her acceptance, had reached its limit. She would not make their engagement public.

And even though he had agreed, he felt …or he sensed... she wanted an out. That she indeed, did not love him enough.

He agreed to keeping their engagement secret in the first place because Mary had accepted him. They had stood under a tree and she said yes.

And he thought he wanted nothing else. Mary's acceptance had lifted his heart.

Now he felt crushed. Weighed down. Suffocating.

Would she always make him feel this way? As if he did not know where he stood? As if the ground shifted on sand whenever she was in his presence.

She pulled away from him. Yes it was because it was in public. Yes he understood the social distance necessary. But he had been away.

And she was his girl.

And he wanted to kiss her.

So he brushed her cheek instead.

Mary's look was inscrutable.

Confused, he turned away from her.

"Mother." He said, warmth and sun in his voice as he took his mother's arms. Outstretched for her boy. Oh she had missed him. Missed their talks in the morning before he left for work. At night, a late cup of cocoa. He had generously agreed, after his father's death and the reading of the will had left the family home in Matthew's name that Isobel would stay on. They would live together as a new family of two. Lean on each other. They had continued to do so when the letter "that changed their lives" arrived from Downton two years previous.

Before August 1914 happened, she had thought Mary would take him away from her. And that was as it should be. He loved her with an ache that hurt. She had realized that sooner than either of them. She knew Matthew. He would "choose his own wife." But as soon as that stubborn, intelligent, lovely girl entered their sitting room, she knew he had already chosen.

It had been written all over his face.

So she had not anticipated it would be war that would separate them. War that would take her son away from her.

Isobel hugged her son hard. "We'll talk more later." So many things she wanted to ask.

He understood.

"Robert." He said, facing Lord Grantham for the first time.

Robert Crawley was also in uniform. The North Riding Regiment by the look of it. "Are you called up?" He asked faltering, looking again at Mary despite himself. Robert was in no fit state for service in France.

"No unfortunately. Seems they don't want me. I'll be helping out here and there with the adjutant general. Sort of a general dogs body, really." He sounded disgusted. Matthew couldn't help but chuckle as Robert absent-mindedly pet Isis as he said that.

Yet Matthew was relieved. He nodded disapproval for Robert's sake but he was relieved. This war, he now understood to his utter disgust, was a young man's game. The old school of Robert's generation, war by rules and gentlemanly behavior, was not on show here as far as he could ascertain. No matter how much the drill, the discipline, the old order of things was on display in his regiment. He sensed the atmosphere. He smelt the blood to come.

And it made him different.

He now fully realized, as he had never before, the mask that Mary spoke of to him. The one she wore in public. The one of indifference. The one that kept people at a distance. Cold and calculating it kept him from knowing her innermost thoughts.

He had understood and found it confining all the same time. Then she cracked it. Just for him. First at his proposal. Then at the balls when they were so connected. So intimate.

Why then had it been put in place when she agreed to take his hand in marriage?

They needed to talk while he was on leave. Before he left for France. Before he perfected the mask he now wore. The one of the good soldier. The one that believed in the cause.

Oh, he would be a good soldier. One to fight. To kill. But not necessarily for the causes he was being told. He was too thick into legal training to be bedazzled by king and country, by fight the Hun and save the Belgians. He would fight as he saw it- for his fellow soldiers. To fight and perhaps to die so that they won't have to.

But he needed Mary. He needed her presence in his life. She represented life. The future. Their future. One he had so foolhardily threw away when he joined up when he did not have to.

But the past was another country and the here and now is where he now dwelt.

They needed to talk.

Mary observed Matthew's wan appearance. Her instinct was to reach out and touch him and let the warmth of her skin penetrate.

But she refrained while they were in the public eye. Instead she took his proffered gloved hand and they walked into the house. The heir had returned. They were all to have tea.

The Dowager Countess, Lady Grantham, Edith and Sybil were already seated in the library. Mr. Carson fussed at the table. Anna served the cakes.

Downton survives, Matthew thought. He let the thought slip from his mind as Mary continued to look worried.

So he pushed those thoughts away. "So how is everyone getting on? Sybil? Have you recovered from the season yet?" He knew she'd have something to say about that.

Sybil took the bait. "Well actually I've been thinking about doing some kind of war work."

Violet sniffed. Isobel looked interested.

Matthew smiled. That's our Sybil. "What do you have in mind?" Anything to keep them from talking about his experiences.

Sybil wrinkled her nose in thought. "I'm not sure. I've heard that some women are taking time to see each of the soldiers off at the train station. Or giving tea and cakes. But that seems unnecessary…"

"Well I wouldn't say that Sybil. " Matthew responded gently. "I think… I think that does a lot of good. Good you don't necessarily see, but good that they'll take with them into an unknown future."

Sybil nodded contemplatively. "I see. I'll give it some thought." And they looked each other in the eye. Matthew was happy to be a bit of help.

He turned to Mary. Was that a challenge she saw in his eyes? What? Now she was supposed to measure up to Sybil. "I was at Cliveden recently. To meet up with Lady Sarah and she said those girls are only doing it to find a man in uniform. I don't think we want that for Sybil, surely."

"You were at Cliveden?" Matthew asked. He knew it was a vipers nest of hearsay about the war at their week end parties. Although some politicians and intellectuals presided at Nancy Astor's home, many were there to hobnob and gladhand.

"I'm not a prisoner of Downton." She snapped.

He turned away. In so many ways Mary was still quite young he remembered ruefully.

Her eyes closed slowly. Why did she say that? Why did everything he said provoke her? She bit her tongue but could not take it back. She missed his so much. So terribly. At just three months and she was already worried every moment of every day.

But she said none of these things. She did not know how to say them. They sounded weak. Selfish. They were told to be strong. To not be a burden on the men leaving for war. To not talk about things.

The chitchat was oddly soothing to Matthew's ears. Violet and Isobel sparring about how the hospital could best function in the war. Robert speaking to him about the workers who have volunteered and how that spoke well of the estate.

"If you had joined the Riding I could have put in a good word…."Robert was confused why Matthew had chosen a regiment closer to his old life. He wanted his heir to join a Yorkshire regiment. To be part of the comradery of the estate.

"I knew it was what you wanted, Robert. And I appreciate it. But I… I wanted to do it on my own." He smiled a thin smile, hoping Robert would either understand or change the subject.

The older man harrumphed. "So how was training?" Robert asked, changing the subject. Matthew breathed out.

"My eyes have been opened." Matthew said in all honesty.

"Don't I know it." Robert replied. The two men had walked away from the ladies. As if war talk was not done in front of them.

They stood near the window casements.

"You got my message about using our London tailor for your uniform." Robert looked sideways at Mathew. Even if he wasn't in the Yorkshire regiment, he wanted his heir to dress his best.

"I did." Matthew replied. "I am most grateful." He meant it. Oddly the uniform helped him understand the role he was about to play. It made him sit straighter. Stand taller. He had gone to Robert's tailor who was already doing a booming business in officer uniforms. He was outfitted accordingly in the finest Barathea wool with satin lining and gold brass buttons. He now looked the part. His Webley revolver scared him a bit. But he was learning how to handle it.

But he still felt a fraud. It was apparent already to him in the mess as he finished up training camp and reported to The Duke of Manchester's Own headquarters. OTC men who had studied together at college at Cambridge or Oxford. Had trained for a few weeks and now presented themselves, tailored and girded as an officer. They had welcomed him. Well as soon as they found out he was the heir to the Earl of Grantham they welcomed him. He accepted their friendship. He realized he was going to need it.

"I promised to do my duty, I've begun to memorize the Field Service Regulations. Learned to drill and march and to punch a hay filled dummy with a bayonet. But I still feel like a raw recruit."

"That won't really go away until you get your orders …" Robert swallowed hard. It hit him suddenly. The memory of his own war experiences. The cold followed by searing heat of the veldt. The sounds of the bullets.

Was this what he wanted for his heir? The idea of becoming a man in the crucible of war. No. He had, he hoped at least, outgrown those foolish notions of his youth. He saw it all around him now though. War fever. Just as he had it in '99. Boys becoming men. The nation expects…

Robert suddenly sighed heavily. It had all become too real. "If you can meet with triumph and disaster and treat those two impostors just the same…"

Matthew picked up the thread "If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken, twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools. " He stopped. Wasn't he already a man? Being trained to kill?

"Kipling's words have never been truer, I think. I've already met with several knaves and fools already." Matthew's snide tone could not be mistaken. He would do his best.

"Yes." Robert was being motioned to by Cora. "Let's go rejoin the ladies." Matthew nodded and they moved back towards the cakes and the tea.

XX  
Matthew and Mary were finally allowed some alone time after the tea had been cleared by Carson and everyone retired to write letters or get ready for the dinner gong.

They lingered behind. Cora noticed but said nothing. Mary had not confided everything to her. She knew something was up between them. Something had been arranged. She needed to talk to Mary, and soon.

But for now she left them.

Matthew threw himself down on the divan. Everything seemed the same. Everything seemed different. And this sensation, he realized, would only get more surreal the longer the war went on.

He reached out for Mary's hand. She was so beautiful.

Mary turned, surprised at her mother's actions. Leaving them alone was not accepted protocol. Did Cora suspect something? Over the past ten or so weeks while Matthew was away, Mary had created a version of plausible deniability regarding any understanding between herself and her distant cousin. In case anyone suspected. She would simply say that she and Matthew had given up their past sparring and fighting and become friends.

Their engagement was her secret. She spent her life living out the expectations of others. Doing her mother's and grandmother's bidding. Listening to her father go on and on about the entail and the need for a male heir. Shopping for male companions along with her sisters at weekend balls and country dances. Never even dressing alone, but always having a servant help her. Privileged for sure. But also living a public life even in private.

And now she had her secret. And she liked it. Matthew had given her a ring. The night before he left for training. They had slipped away from the good bye dinner and out into the foyer for a moment alone. He presented it her with bated breath, knowing they had only a few minutes.

"Matthew," She had said, turning red and losing her practiced cool for just a moment.

"It's my grandmothers." He had said in a rush. "Mother…mother gave it to me a year ago for safe keeping. 'Just in case,' she had hinted. But at the time, I thought she was dreaming." Matthew looked into Mary's eyes. "Now I'm the one dreaming, Mary. And those dreams have come true. For me. For us." His breath hot next to her face.

She slipped the ring on her finger. "I'll wear it at night."

A pained look gripped his face. "I…I don't understand why we can't tell everyone. It…it seems wrong." The ever understanding good son came out in Matthew. Not being able to tell Isobel. To shout it to the world,even.

"You're going away. Everything is changing." Mary said. "It's not the time. I want it to stay between us. Just a little longer." And with a quick kiss, hot and sweet, he had once again agreed to her terms.

So now she came to sit beside him on the red divan. "Do you have the ring?" He asked. He wanted to see it so on her finger.

She had left it upstairs. "No. Not on me." He touched her finger where it should have been.

"I see." He rubbed her knuckle back and forth.

"I wear it at night." She gently reminded him.

"I'll think of that tonight then." He did not want to argue about this. Not now. Not when they have such limited time to themselves. Carson would be in to retrieve him back to Crawley House to change before he knew it.

This was precious time.

Mary smiled at his slightly suggestive confession. What did Matthew think at night? Were they thinking the same thoughts? Hers had surprised her recently. Shocked her in their palpable desire. To touch his hands. To have his hands touch her body. To need him more than she ever thought possible. To have his hands roam free over her skin. Her eyes closed at that image.

"Are you cold?" Matthew asked. "Come here." And he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. They sank against each other. Melded into each other. He kissed her forehead and her hair.

He now tasted sweet.

"Do you think of me often?" She asked.

Matthew's breath was sharp. "Yes." He confessed.

"When?"

"When I can't sleep." Or when the idea of what was to meet him in France gripped him so hard it was either think of Mary or give in to the nausea inducing fear.

He chose to think of Mary. Of her hair. Of her dancing. Of her quick wit as she tore him to pieces with her mercurial logic.

She snuggled closer. Wanting to feel him so that when he was gone she would have this memory.

"Edith is going to drive tractors, you know." Mary had said this while he stroked her hand. He stopped suddenly. Guffawed slightly.

"What?" He asked, but refused to move his hand.

"On a farm." Mary continued. "All the men are joining up and this farmer…the one your mother treated for dropsy or something last year, he needs someone to drive a tractor."

"Well that's admirable I suppose." Matthew had always felt a kinship to Edith, despite her misguided belief that they might have made a match of it. Matthew had always had only one Crawley woman in his mind.

"She just wants to show off that she's better than the rest of us." She sniffed. "I'm just glad I don't have to see her after she returns from the farm. Probably smelling like pigs. Thank God we have separate rooms. I'd rather sleep on the roof than share with Edith."

Matthew had to smile at that. Everything was quite the same at Downton.

"You're impossible, you know that." He lifted her chin to his face.

"And you love it." She teased back. She lifted her fingers to place a lost forelock back across his hairline.

"I do." He kissed her, deep and hard. "I do indeed." And there was no more talking needed between them.

Her touch had undone him. He wanted her desperately. With a need he could never express until they were wed. He was not sure he could hold out much longer.

Mary sensed his desperation, and was made both anxious and tempted by it. His hard lips sought hers out. He kissed her in ways he had never done before. His tongue scrapped the top of her mouth. He clung to her. She felt his strong muscles along her forearms.

A man's kiss. A kiss of man about to go to war. Not the stuff of dreams. But the needs of a real man.

Was she really ready to meet that kiss? Those expectations? Those needs?

She pulled away from him suddenly fearful. She wasn't ready. And she knew it. There was so much about the war she did not understand. The newspapers were full of battles at places called Mons and the river Marne. The death toll had already become such that they no longer openly spoke of it in public. The mourning became silent, unobserved by the rest of society.

This fear paralyzed her. She would rather be without him. Be without the engagement or a marriage than face the reality of him dead, of herself a young widow.

She shivered.

He wasn't to be told of that fear. She had been warned not to speak of such things. But she knew she could not go through with their continued engagement.

She would have to break it off.

XX

Please please review! I really want your input!

_Forgive me for leaving it there. Mary is confused. Please don't blame her for such thoughts. I love her and think she's venting her fear with sarcasm. She's very young remember and sheltered. These thoughts don't come from selfishness but fear. Fear that it's better for both of them not to wed out of some misguided notions of the romance of war. We'll s__ee how all this plays out in the next few chapters. I did warn everyone this story is going to be angsty…_


	3. Chapter 3: The Things that Matter

_Starting where we ended…_

XX

She pulled away from him suddenly fearful. She wasn't ready. And she knew it. There was so much about the war she did not understand. The newspapers were full of battles at places called Mons and the river Marne. The death toll had already become such that they no longer openly spoke of it in public. The mourning became silent, unobserved by the rest of society.

This fear paralyzed her. She would rather be without him. Be without the engagement or a marriage than face the reality of him dead, of herself a young widow.

She shivered.

Instead she would have to break it off.

Mary stood up. Faced him.

"I think we should pull back." She fiddled with her necklace.

"What?" He looked up sharply, his tone slightly incredulous.

"I've been thinking and I'm thinking this is the wrong time for any kind of wedding. With the war…" she trailed off. And so did her nerve.

"You're just scared." Saying the first thing that came to mind, Matthew's mind was actually racing.

"Aren't we all?" She recovered.

"Yes." He was frightened all the time now. But he had to appear cool and silent amongst the public. That was the order of the day as demanded by his superiors. The civilian population was not to be affected by his own piercing doubts.

"Then it's the not time. These things should be done in calmer waters." She said more firmly this time.

"I didn't mean to push about the secrecy. Let's…let's just keep it as it is…" Matthew's voice was raised in a whispered pitch. What was she getting at? "You're not thinking clearly."

She closed her eyes. Trying to pull it together, she had to get through this. "I am thinking clearly. Women are going all agog over men in uniform and rushing out to get married in some kind of desperate romantic gesture. Well that's not for me. We made our engagement when the world was a different place. It's not like that anymore."

"That's for sure."

"So you agree?"

"What? Agree that it's foolish to get married for romance? For love? I agree that it's always the time to do that."

She scoffed. "You know that's not what I mean."

"Are you saying you no longer love me?"

"Matthew." She sighed. "How many times to I have to tell you that? You act like such a wounded lover."

"Because on a whim you leave me out to hang. To call it off because it's not convenient? No I don't agree with that. If we do that there will never be a convenient time. And if you do, you're thinking rather irrationally. And incredibly selfish." Matthew's irritation reaching a new level of panic.

"Oh and leaving me in the lurch is rational Matthew? Leaving me to go join the army without telling me is not the height of selfishness? Leaving me standing there in front of my parents, in front of the servants, sending you off to war like the brave lady I'm supposed to be …. all alone, because… because why? Because why Matthew?" Her tone now unnervingly calm.

He said nothing.

"Exactly. That's incredibly selfish as well. And cruel. And I don't think we're right for each other after all. We hurt each other too much. It's too hard. It's all just too hard." And before she broke further, she left. Fled really. The room. The room had become stifling and she could hardly breathe.

Fled past Carson who was on his way to break up the tête-à-tête he suspected was going on in the library. He had intended to gently remind Mr. Crawley that his mother was waiting for him in the salon to retire back to Crawley House to prepare for dinner.

His heart hardened against Matthew. How dare he make his lady cry? What had he done now to her?

Carson yielded to the touching tableau he saw as he opened the door. Matthew stood, frozen in place, mouth agape and eyes unblinking. He looked as if the world had fallen out beneath his feet.

He could now feel nothing but pity for this young couple, entrenched in the midst of forces they were too young to fathom.

XX

"Mary of course you'll come down to dinner. We have guests." Cora's voiced was pinched with strain. What had come over her eldest daughter?

"Mama for once can I be excused from doing my duty." Mary's face was contorted with the tears she was hiding. Her voice though was curt, cutting.

"No. It's Matthew's only night at Downton. Tomorrow he's being dragged to some territorial dinner by your father. Don't you want to see him?"

"I saw him just now. I have a headache. Isn't that enough…." Mary sat down on the bed. Cora would not leave without some kind of explanation, but she was not ready to discuss her situation with Matthew with her mother who, she knew would be judgmental about the rash engagement in the first place.

"Young lady you will appear downstairs. We have Lord Merton in for the evening. He's working for the War Office and is only in York for a few days. As is Matthew." And she stared over at Mary. "Can you tell me what's going on between the two of you?"

Mary simply shook her head. But relented. "I'll come down to dinner."

"Thank you." Cora's voice was calming down. "I'll send for Anna." She walked over to Mary and put her hand on her shoulder. "Mary darling, can we talk later?"

Mary responded to the warmth of her mother's touch. Cora felt Mary start to shake. "Oh darling, darling…" And she sat down next to her.

"What is it?" Cora's fingers tugged at Mary's chin until Mary was facing her.

Mary started to tell but then stopped abruptly. "If I tell you, you must promise to keep it between us."

Cora sniffed. "Mary you make everything so dramatic."

"I'm serious. He proposed to me."

"What? When?" Cora could not believe her ears.

"Months ago. After Sybil's encounter at the by election." Mary swallowed. It was out now.

"Oh, my dear... Have you given him an answer?" If Cora was surprised she tried not to show it.

"At first I told him that I'd think about it." Mary dodged it again.

"Well, that's an advance on what it would have been a year ago. Do you want to marry him?"

"I know you want me to marry him." She maneuvered the conversation away from her own emotions.

"What we want doesn't matter. At least, it's not all that matters." Cora could not deny that it would tidy everything up with the entail. And Mary's never been the easiest one to find a proper and acceptable suitor. Matthew fit the bill.

"Do you love Matthew?" Almost as an afterthought. Cora had never even considered the possibility that Mary would overcome her aversion to being told who to marry.

"Yes." Mary surprised herself with the confidence in her voice. "I think perhaps I do. I think I may have loved him for much longer than I knew."

This was no longer the question. But as Matthew kept insisting, how much did she love him? Did she love him enough? Mary started to cry. The tears, unwanted uninvited, still streamed down her face. "He doubts it though. He sensed I was reluctant and went off and joined up without even asking me. Now does that sound like someone who wants to marry?"

Mary took control over her emotions again. Her voice turned brittle. "He accused me of being selfish." She sniffled. "He's the one being selfish." But she knew she didn't entirely mean it.

"Oh, my darling." Cora takes Mary's hand. She forgot how young Mary still was. She put on such an air of calculation and control that Cora almost began to believe that nothing would ever hurt Mary for she would never allow it.

"Life can be terribly unfair, can't it?" Mary had allowed herself to think of a future for herself and Matthew. After her acceptance. She had dreamt about it at night. They could make it all work out to everyone's happiness. That she could make her parents proud.

"It certainly can." Cora well understood. She had been pushed into a marriage by her own mother for title and family. To a man who had not loved her. But one where they had grown to love each other. Mary and Matthew's road to love had been full of bumps and bruises. Her willful daughter. His stubborn pride.

"Everything seems so golden one minute, then turns to ashes the next." She turned to Cora. "The odd thing was, I felt...for the first time, really...I understood what it was to be happy. It's just that now I know that I won't be. He's going away. He might not come back. I …. Don't know that I can take that." And she closed her eyes. "God he's right that is selfish. But it's how I feel."

"You're both still very young. I think you're right that you should wait. Now that he's in the war. You should wait." Cora's own practical side reasserting itself. "There's no point in rushing things."

"But what if he… if he…" She could not end the sentence.

How well Cora remembered that emotion as well. Sending a man off to a faraway war. Helpless to do anything to stop him. It had not mattered then whether she and Robert had been married or not. She worried anyway. She thought she could spare Mary, however, some of the burdens she had to bear.

"You'll worry. Fret. Be scared. It's natural. But you must stay strong. That's the main thing. Our job is to be strong for them. But you can do that in ways other than being married. As you said, this has come up all of a sudden. You can take everything one step at a time."

Mary appreciated her mother's words more than she could say. "Thank you mama." She stood up, dried her tears with a handkerchief.

"I'm ready." Squared her shoulders. "Please send Anna in." Mary stood in front of the full length mirror and withdrew back into herself.

Cora sighed, realizing that Mary still was fooling herself. But it was a start. Sometimes just the appearance of strength brings strength. So it might with Mary.

XX

Dinner talk was confined to polite subjects. Lord Merton gossiped with Violet about old friends he now worked with at the War Office. "You know how absent minded Burke is. He goes about the office, pretending he's in charge. Just like he did when Robert and I were children. But then forgets what room the strategy session is to be held." He chuckled lightly and took a sip of wine.

"So good to know the war is being run so well." Violet acutely observed.

Matthew's eyes got large at Merton's casual admission of incompetence. But he said nothing. There was nothing to say. The Asquith government had reluctantly gone to war to defend the Belgians and as a result the regular army was underfunded and unprepared for the entrenched warfare that soon resulted from that inadequate defense. The government seemed to be following suit.

That was a reality he and the rest of the Kitchener's New Army would face when deployed to the front within the month. He was easing into the reality that he would constantly be barraged with doubts, with criticism he would never be able to voice. He was the good soldier. And all he had to do was survive.

Mary did not meet his eyes at all during the dinner. The conversation at their end was awkward with Sybil providing some relief with an extended commentary on how she had managed to get one of the younger servant girls a job as a secretary.

Matthew nodded politely, but was barely listening. He needed to get Mary alone. But everything was so circumscribed that without her help it would be impossible.

The ladies soon left the men to the sherry and cigars. Talk turned more directly to military matters. The course of the Ypres salient campaign.

They talked bluster and everyone at the table knew it. But said nothing.

Merton began to start once more analyzing the finer details of the taking up defensive positions to hold the advance of the German Army. "I would have loved to be fly on the wall in French's quarters when Foch roused him to scream "hammer away hammer away" as observers had spotted a gap in the boche's line. Of course we were the smallest forces out on the field, but we proved our mettle that day."

Robert puffed on the end of his cigar and huffed an approving endorsement of the analysis.

"The artillery needs more support, however, and the men will need to better trained to keep their heads together under fire. " Merton gazed over at Matthew as if he wanted the younger man's acquiescence.

Instead Matthew could no longer take the armchair generalship on display at the table. He interjected "Our Regular Army regimental drill sergeant is six foot ten. Drill Sergeant Smithson. Smartest man in the regiment. Told me the other day that if I didn't learn to march with my shoulders back I might just do myself a permanent injury and prejudice my chances of ever becoming a father…" Matthew chuckled at the memory.

Robert gave Matthew a side eye but Lord Merton roared with laughter. "Had the same kind of drill sergeant myself. Told me my knees knocked together and was so loud that the enemy would hear me long before I could ever get my revolver out to shoot."

Matthew preferred the light talk to any real accounting of the war. It was easier to pretend that way.

Yet Robert could not mistake the haunted look that crossed the young man's face. "Come on. Let's rejoin the ladies."

But Matthew had enough for one evening. "Would you mind Robert." He asked as put down his sherry glass. Robert put out his cigar and the two men left the table to Carson and Mason to clean up. "If I gave up the rest of the evening. I have a tremendous headache coming on and I really think I want to go home." They left the dining room. Matthew turned towards the front door.

"I'll walk back, I think. Tell mother for me would you?" He looked Robert in the eye. "I … I just don't think I can do anymore tonight."

Robert patted him on the back. "I will make the proper excuses." Matthew smiled a half smile. Retrieved his great coat from Barrow at the front door and left.

He was exhausted. The day had been so topsy turvy. Nothing had turned out the way he had planned. And he had no idea how to proceed. Mary and he had danced their way around talking throughout the meal. Of course they had been separated in between Isobel at the table and there was no real chance for any private conversation.

And that was other reason for his mental exhaustion. His playacting at the table. That all was fine. That he was not feeling out of time and place. A half existence he suddenly realized. For his real life, the life he now a saw as his life, was in the regiment. A regiment about to be sent to France within the fortnight.

He reached into his pocket for the pack of cigarettes. Mary, the princess royal and daughter to King George V, had sent out Christmas brass boxes to all the men in a most generous offer. The box included pipe tobacco, cigarettes, pipe, and tinder lighter. Even the Gurkhas received gifts according to their religious beliefs.

He snickered to himself as he lit it. Mary had hated it that he took up smoking. He had not meant to do it. But it was one way to get know his fellow officers in the mess. The comradery was the one good thing that resulted from his rash decision. Despite the differences he still felt in class and station, he met several other lieutenants from his university college. Many of them were arrogant prats of course, but he learned which ones to avoid. Especially on the battlefield, he would steer clear of them. The espirit de corps instilled in them was partially a fraud but he could see the benefit of the lie. They would all have to learn to live with each other in close quarters. And to lean on each other in the worst of conditions.

So he took up smoking and joined them in the mess. He drank with them in the pubs on the week end.

And looked around and realized that not all of them would live to see the end of this war. And he drank some more.

Leaving the Abbey, he turned up his collar to the winter chill. The flame produced by the flint strike he put it to the tobacco was caught by the wind and swirled about but he managed to light the cigarette. The burnt end glowed red against the black of the night.

He made his way back to Crawley House, silent except for the crunching noises made by his shoes on the thin layer of ice that covered the footpath.

He didn't think he ever had felt more alone.

XX

"Snap out of this Matthew and tell me what is all this about?" Isobel's sharp no nonsense tone was unmistakable. It was one that had plagued his boyhood as he got into mischief and had to confess to tearing his short pants while attempting to slide down the hillside back of their Manchester home or sneaking out to the pub with his mates at sixteen when he supposed to studying to get into university.

He had been moping all day. Wallowing really. Lethargic in the morning he overslept. No one came to wake him or open the blinds so he assumed his mother told Mrs. Bird to leave him alone. He dressed and came down for lunch but was monosyllabic at best towards his mother who chatted about all the conversions to the hospital undertaken by herself and Dr. Clarkson.

"As a matter of fact…" Isobel side eyed her son who muttered an occasional 'yes' or 'really' while staring out the casement window. "…yes as a matter of fact Richard has asked me to marry him and I think I will and we'll honeymoon in Spain before setting up shop in America because that is the land of opportunity." She sat back and took a sip of tea and waited for the reaction.

"That's nice" Matthew mumbled at first. Then he shifted in his chair as something was wrong. He then looked up sharply at his now amused as punch mother as the information finally soaked into his brain. "What?"

Isobel snorted. "Welcome back to earth. Now can we talk?"

Matthew had to laugh. He popped the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and swallowed some tea. He did feel better all of a sudden. He had not wanted to worry his mother about his fears. She knew well enough, indeed better than most, about war having nursed soldiers in the Boer War. And there was nothing she could do to help assuage his concerns on that matter.

But Mary, now… maybe she could help him there. Although Isobel's feelings towards Mary have always seemed lukewarm at best of times, he knew that she would have accepted his choice of bride with open arms. But now, now Mary's put it off again. Perhaps forever. Part of him understood her. Their engagement had been made under different circumstances. The Before as Matthew now saw it. Full of hope and a future together.

Now they're living in The After and he had not consulted her. And as his intended wife he should have. He should have told her his intention to join up. But instead he left, thinking that if he gave it any more thought he would not have done so. She said she needed a bit more time. And when he offered up his services to king and country he thought he was giving her that space. That time. Now he realized, as the war casualties mounted and the lines became entrenched, that it would be years not months. That expanse of time was now a chasm between them.

What could he do?

He remembered when Evelyn Napier first visited and had brought the newspaper baron Richard Carlisle with him to visit. Isobel had dismissed them as "men to be flung at Mary presumably."

"When it comes to Cousin Mary, she is quite capable of doing her own flinging, I assure you." He had responded as if her barbs had no effect on his psyche.

But they had. They had indeed. Especially as she proceeded to flirt outrageously with both men the entire evening while shutting Matthew out.

He steamed and fumed throughout the dinner but when it came time to join the ladies and Mary continued to primp and show Richard around the library, with the pretense that she was actually interested in his newspaper holdings, he had enough. He knew it was petulant but he left without a word to anyone. Returned home and poured himself a large whisky. He sat in the Crawley House drawing room, watching the crackling fire, and realized he loved Mary so much that even her hurting him would not make a difference.

Now they had done it again. The hurt. The pain. The collective baggage of a long suffering relationship.

But the love was still there. Her rejection had only to do with fear. Not an abandonment of their love.

What was he going to do?

"Mother." He finally said. "I've been keeping something from you."

Isobel paused. Closed her eyes. She had figured that much out already. She steadied herself for what he was about to say. She had an inkling but needed confirmation.

"I asked Mary to marry me." He swallowed. "Months ago now." A lifetime ago it now seemed really.

Isobel slowly nodded. Yes that was as she thought.

"After Sybil's London season, we became engaged. Secretly engaged. Mary wanted to wait until the right moment to tell cousin Robert."

And to give herself an out, Isobel thought rather cynically. But said, "Well that is good news."

"Yes well," Matthew continued before he could give the wrong impression. "It's all changed again."

"Ah." Suspicion confirmed.

"Don't say it like that Mother." Matthew's voice slightly peeved and knowing.

"Continue." Taking a sip of tea Isobel tried to stop her racing thoughts on the matter.

"She now wants to put a pause on the engagement. To …to pull back. Because of the war I guess…." He trailed off not really knowing how to continue.

"I'm very sad to hear that." She replied quickly. "I thought Mary was made of better stuff. Young men are going off to war the least the women can do is be supportive."

Even as she spoke the words, though Isobel wanted to bite them back. For they weren't true. When Reggie announced he was joining the medical corps and was to tend the wounded in South Africa, Isobel had fought him tooth and claw. Giving him all the reasons he should not go. That their life was in England, Matthew having just started attending a new public school. The upshot was Reggie had gone. She had begun to train as a nurse. To do something yes for the war effort. But to also do something to stop the longing and the loneliness. To stop the anger against Reggie, against the world for turning everything she knew upside down.

"Don't speak against her." Matthew was seldom sharp with Isobel but his instinct now moved him to defend Mary. Even though presumably he was the hurt party.

"You're right." Isobel stopped. "I spoke out of haste." She put down her cup. Sat back against the hard wooden chair. "What do you want to do?"

"That's just it Mother." The edge of frustration in his tone. "I don't know. I just don't know." He shoved his own chair back. "I think maybe she's right. It is the wrong time to be thinking about a life together when everything…" he faultered. "… Everything is changed. To ask Mary to spend her life with me, when I'm not going to be just a solicitor." Isobel scoffed at that. They both knew Mary's prejudice towards a more aristocratic lifestyle. Matthew looked over at her but continued, "But a soldier. A soldier who is not even going to be home for the majority of any kind of married life."

"Many people get married during war." Isobel gently reminded him.

"Yes. In haste perhaps. Under false pretensions. I don't need that from her. I don't want that from her." Matthew said. "I want a marriage where both parties are sure. And now… now I'm not sure either."

"So it's best that it be put off." Isobel wasn't sure this was not just Matthew making the best of the situation. But she did approve with his reasoning.

"Yes. So that… that… if something should happen to me, she can go on without the burden of being neither free nor wife. Free to find someone else."

"Oh Matthew." Isobel's pained look made him want to bite his words back.

"I'm sorry. I was told not to speak of such possibilities. But it plagues my mind. We were all told to write a will you know. " He said almost in whisper. "I had been meaning to update the will I wrote in Manchester when we still lived there. I thought I had plenty of time. But there I was in that office having to think of how to provide for you in case of my… of my…." He could not finish the sentence as Isobel moved swiftly around the table to embrace him.

"Hush my boy." She hugged him fiercely. "Hush. Everything will be as it will be. We'll talk no more about that."

Mrs. Bird arrived at that moment to break the tension in the room. Matthew stood up, took his mother's hands and gripped them tight. They understood each other.

"I've got some letters to write. Then I have to get ready for this dinner of Robert's." He tried to grin. Pulled one eyebrow up. "As long as it keeps him happy. And out of the war. I shouldn't be too long."

Isobel began to discuss some shopping issues and some potential cutting back on some luxury items so Matthew made his escape.

In the office, however, another idea came to Matthew. A way to talk to Mary. Alone.

He scribbled a note on some stationary. Enclosed the note in an envelope and sealed it. He just needed now to give it to his mother for safe delivery that evening.

He let himself enjoy a fraction of hope.

XX

The train was late. Matthew was grateful. Mary had not yet arrived. Isobel had done as he had asked and hand delivered his note to her the evening before. His note, written in haste as he did not want to second guess his words, asked that she meet him before he left back to London and the final deployment to France.

"_Please let me say good-bye."_ He had written. "_I won't leave until I can say good-bye to you properly_."

His eyes scanned the platform. No train. No Mary.

Not yet.

He fixed his cap on his head. Put his gloves on. All to have something to do. It had been awful enough saying his goodbyes to Isobel. She had maintained the stiff upper lip. He left by the shortcut through the church yard. Arrived to find the train late.

So he waited. There were very few people to take the early morning train so his thoughts and his pacing were his own.

Suddenly he turned hearing the unmistakable click click of heeled shoes on the wooden platform.

Mary.

She had come.

Mary's smile was crooked. Wavering. When Isobel had slipped the note into Mary's hand the previous evening saying to her, "From Matthew, my dearest girl," her heart beat out of her chest. Her heart, the one she doubted she had, spoke to her that night as she read his words and his request that she meet him at the train station.

She had done so. Slipped past the scullery maid and the boot boy, down the stairs even as a startled Daisy was on her way up to light the fire in her room. Out the front door and across the lawn. What would she say to him? Did he want her to recant her words of the other day? Did she want to?

Matthew moved towards her. ""Thank you for coming. You must have been up before the servants."

"They were rather surprised to see me." Standing next to him. Hearing his halted breathing. He was just as nervous as she.

"Mary." His saying her name giving him strength. "Mary I want you to know that I understand. I regret what I said the other day. I did rush into this, placing you in a position that I had no right to prejudge."

"My words were said in haste." Mary also tried to make amends. They had such limited time. No time to leave anything in anger. "But I…I…." Her head slumped down.

"It's all right, my darling." Matthew interjected. "I agree that we should leave things of a more permanent nature to the future." He fumbled over the words. "The world is an unsettled place. And we both have other obligations right now."

Mary's mouth quivered. So much for her dutiful act. She was a mess. "Yours is to come back to us safe and sound." Reasserting her purpose for accepting his note. She wanted to send him off with the encouraging words she had heard from others.

"I'll try not to be a hero. If that's what you're afraid of."

"Just come back. I'll be here." It was the waiting game of women she realized ironically. Sending them off while they waited. And in the waiting held the demons of fear and anxiety.

"I want to give you something." He pulled a small box out of his pocket.

She looked quizzical. The engagement ring was still in the box in her nightstand. His note said for her to keep it safe for the future.

So what was this?

He handed it to her to open. The spring was stiff and it took a bit of effort for her to open the top. When she did so she gave a small gasp. Inside was a beautiful silver pin.

"It's the Duke of Manchester's Own regimental badge." Matthew explained. "You wear it in your cap." And he pointed to the spot on his own serge trench cap. "But really we can give them out to wives…" he stuttered. Coughed. "…and sweethearts to wear." His cap had the brass replacement that was also given to the officers.

Mary pulled the pin button back off of the badge to release it from its casing. It was a handsomely designed silver star set against a cobalt blue backdrop.

"It means you're my girl." Matthew said. "A promise." His lop sided grin making him appear so much younger than the uniform belied.

He tore off one glove and helped her affix the badge to her collar. "You can wear it, knowing you've sent me off to war a happy man."

Mary's eyes met Matthew's in a moment of pure understanding. She tiptoed up and leaned towards his face. He moved towards her face. They clasped hands as their lips came together. Warm and sweet they refused to part. To let go.

The piercing whistle of the conductor broke their reverie.

"Goodbye then." He let go of her hands.

She kissed him again, soft and lingering, on the cheek. "Suck good luck." Whispered as an invocation of hope and trust.

"Good bye, Mary. And God bless you." Their hands slip away from each other.

The conductor practically pushed Matthew into the train car. He got in threw his bag on the seat and opened the window as the steam rose from the engines as the train took off from the station platform. In the midst of the steam he could still see Mary. He put his body outside the window so he could see her better as the train took them apart from each other.

He waved his cap. She waved her gloved hand back.

He could no longer see her so he heavily threw himself down onto the seat of the compartment. The journey into the unknown had begun.

XX

Mary returned to Downton more determined than ever. If this war was to last as it now seemed it was going to, she would have to find something to fill the time.

Fill it usefully. She could let have Sybil have all the glory after all.

Life was somehow slipping away from her. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

So she would have to make the best of it.

Mary found her mother at breakfast. If Cora was surprised at Mary's arrival looking a bit dusty and windblown, she said nothing. Indeed she had hoped Mary would go see Matthew before he left.

In a voice, determined despite her nerves, Mary said, "I want to do something Mama. I think I won't be any good at nursing or driving a tractor but I want to do something. I want to learn all about the house accounting for a start. You are going to be very busy with all these war committees I see popping up everywhere. So I can relieve some of your responsibilities to the house. I can take those on. And we'll go from there."

Cora, it was true, was feeling overwhelmed with committee work. So many aristocratic families were being told to help out where they could, and she had been contacted by Almina, the Countess of Carnarvon to sit with her on planning various schemes to improve soldiers' general welfare.

"I think that's a very good idea." Cora saw the Manchester silver badge on Mary's collar. She was greatly relieved her wayward daughter and her persevering suitor finally agreed on some kind of terms, and that those terms did not include a hasty marriage or a permanent break. The war would see to the rest.

Mother and daughter smiled at each other. The sun lit the room. The day had dawned bright and clear as it often did at Downton, yet everything had changed. So much was still to change.

They would all have to pull together and see it through.

XX

_Of course…the path of true love seldom runs smooth (just a warning…)Please write and tell me your thoughts. I've noticed not so many folks leaving reviews…is this because you don't like it? Oh dear… we do have a long way to go!_

_And I used a quote from "The Duchess of Duke Street" to have Matthew talk about his drill sgt. I suspect the writers of that show also took it from an original source of a soldier's memory so it seemed appropriate. _


	4. Chapter 4: Close and Far Away

_The next bit of the story… Mary's life has changed…._

_May 1915_

XX

Mary insisted. Exhilaration filled her body. She was in charge of these matters. She stood on firm ground. She found that the process of learning household accounts gave her a sense of power and authority. A self-assurance for when she took control of Downton. In years past, she had never bothered to think much beyond the marriage presumably arranged by her family to some duke or other such assorted heir. She had known that she would preside over a series of servants, be an ornament on her husband's arm, and learn to live with second best and half a life.

So she had never taken her mother up on learning anything about menu planning, wines, or household balance sheets. Mary would snappily respond that she'd leave all that up to Carson after I stole him to live with us. Or she'd say isn't that what we pay a chef d' cuisine for?

But the war had changed all that. So many changes had come to Downton. So many of the groomsmen, gardeners, house boys, and younger servants had volunteered. So many had sacrificed.

And she was learning to take charge.

"Mama it's clear." Her voice clear, clipped. "With Sybil away at nursing school and Edith…" her eyes rolled back with disdain dripping "…eating sandwiches in some filthy barn with a farmer we can cut back on menu items."

Cora, sitting on the divan as Mary turned away from the desk to face her mother, nodded slowly.

Feeling the momentum shift Mary continued "And with Matthew and Papa away for who knows how long…" Mary's voice caught in her throat, but she cleared it and quickly moved to her point, "You can eat downstairs for all meals…"

Cora interrupted with a murmur of protest, "I don't see how that will help…" Robert had taken up a position as requisitions officer with the Adjutant General's office. He was often in London these days. It had pleased him no end, however, to have found a niche in the war effort. Cora found herself often alone and breakfast in bed was still her only real indulgence.

But Mary had that covered as well. "Of course it will Mama. You will be dressed, fed, and ready to get out for all your committee meetings." She gained confidence as Cora's head started to reluctantly nod in agreement.

"And …" she delivered the final blow to end all arguments with the onset of the war "… it will show we are all doing our part to sacrifice extravagance for the duration."

Mary had been told that on so many recent occasions it felt good to deliver it to someone else herself.

Her mother relented with a restrained cough. "Let me see the list of items." Mary handed over the sheet of paper off the library desk. Cora looked over the list Mary had created of foodstuffs that could be eliminated from each meal. At first Cora had been more than a little skeptical at Mary's insistence upon such voluntary rationing, but she could not very well disapprove.

All the committees she sat upon insisted upon the appearance of women giving their efforts entirely over to the war effort. Lady Prudence Fairfax from Bryce Park wanted Downton as a venue for a wounded officer's party. That woman, Cora realized could only be taken in small doses. Her tendency to take all credit and imply that she's working harder for God, King, and Country was severely trying on Cora's already fragile nerves.

To say nothing about Isobel. Cora had already begun, upon Isobel's insistence, to participate in the Red Cross drive to collect clothing and toiletries throughout the county. Indeed Isobel's keen drive to participate in any number of committees drove Cora more than a little mad. Whenever she indulged in any kind of recreational activities, she could intuit the former nurse's sniff of disapproval.

Isobel was visiting later on about a series of county concerts to raise funds and sell raffle tickets for various voluntary efforts. In addition Isobel had met Lady Almina the Countess of Carnarvon when she toured Highclere Castle and its set up as a hospital for wounded soldiers. The two got on like two peas in a pod and both were now intent upon opening up Downton in a similar capacity. Or at the very least a convalescent home.

Violet, upon hearing word of this from Cora at dinner, shuddered at the idea of common soldiers traipsing in and out all times of the day and night. Where would they get any privacy? And the mixing of ranks? "It's a lot to ask when people aren't at their best."

Isobel, in consultation with Dr. Clarkson who was keen on getting the overflow from the village hospital better facilities at the big house, agreed that Downton could be a convalescent home for officers.

With that compromise, Violet's opposition evaporated. "It's a brave new world we're headed for, no doubt about that. We must try to meet it with as much grace as we can muster."

Violet had also surprisingly agreed to Sybil training as a nurse in York. Cora, seeing her youngest as a fledgling about to leave the nest, resisted. "I'm sorry, but if Dr. Clarkson needs free labour, I'd prefer him not to find it in my nursery."

"But Sybil isn't in the nursery and in case you haven't noticed, she hasn't been there for some time." Violet had dryly observed.

"You know what I mean."

"Well, no, not really. You can't pretend it's not respectable when every day we're treated to pictures of queens and princesses in Red Cross uniform, ladling soup down the throat of some unfortunate." As much as Violet was loathe to admit it, they must begin to do their part. And be seen doing it.

"But Sybil won't be ladling soup. She'll have to witness unimaginable horrors, and she's an innocent." The images of bleeding, wounded men screaming in pain filled Cora's imagination.

"Her innocence will protect her." Isobel tried to reassure. Even though she privately knew Sybil was made of stern stuff and would come out shining and better for the experience.

Violet put an end to all opposition. "For once I agree with Cousin Isobel. Sybil must be allowed to do her bit like everyone else."

It had amazed Cora that Violet and Isobel were on the same side. And with that acknowledgement, she had no chance. And besides Sybil was so keen. So she let her go.

It was all coming so fast for everyone.

And now Mary was at it.

Mary shut down the discussion finally with this final interjection. "We don't want Mrs. Patmore to start hoarding, do we?"

That would be an embarrassment in the county. "Fine. Yes." Cora agreed. "Remember as well we've accepted the teetotaler pledge." The sobriety campaign had begun in the military to promote discipline. It had filtered into the civilian community through campaigns to promote of prayer, purity, and temperance. Numerous leagues and committees endorsed the campaign as an example of British self-denial, moral purity, and civilization. And look like they were sacrificing equal to those on the battlefield. So as county aristocrats they needed to lead by example.

"So no sherry after dinner for Granny Violet." And she handed the sheet back to Mary with an amused look. "I'm sure she'll love that."

"Needs must." Mary declaimed slyly. "We're all on the same team." She knew how much Cora was put out by Isobel and Violet siding against her about Sybil's nursing course in York. She herself was in some doubt and intended to speak with her dearest sister privately upon Sybil's return to see if that being a VAD was exactly what she wanted.

Just at that moment Edith walked in. "As long as you remember that as well as the rest of us." She heard the last of Mary's declamations. Edith knew that taking the job on the farm had set Mary's teeth on edge. And that was almost as satisfying to her as the work itself.

Mary's groan could be heard across the library.

"Thank you Edith. But I don't need you to remind me of anything." She turned quickly away so that Edith would not see her face blanch white. She understood more than most the sacrifice of the things she had loved the best before the war. Her hand shook, but she quickly hid it.

"You're just worried about your horse." Edith could not resist another shot across Mary's bow. It had become a competition neither sister could resist.

Mary's eyes closed. She was not up to Edith's fatuous baiting today. But that did not mean she'd let her get away with it. "All the best horses have been requisitioned for the war effort." Those horses included her own beloved Diamond. "But …" she took a breath. "At least I haven't taken their place behind a plow."

Edith sat down in a sulk.

Mary knew that was deliberately hurtful. But Edith did beg to be teased. And neither sister had it in them just yet to relent.

"Girls. Girls." Cora chided, almost by habit. She was seldom listened to by either of them. "Let us remember what this is all in aid of."

Again Mary felt her back rise. If she was reminded one more time about sacrificing for the war, she'd scream. Matthew was about to be sent to the front. She knew that every minute of every day. Her life was once again on hold.

"I don't want to know that you've bought anything extra while I'm away at Cliveden." Turning a bold eye back towards her mother.

"I'm surprised you're going at all." Cora said. "What with Matthew away…"

"Rosamund invited me. It would be rude to say no." Mary responded quickly. "Matthew understands that."

Neither her mother nor Edith would gainsay that.

But Mary knew the real reason was that she would go mad if she did not get out.

Even as she rather liked bossing her mother about, she was in need of getting away from the constant reminders of the war. Even as her conscious tugged by that admission, she knew it to be true.

"Then I'll come with you." Edith said. "You'll need a traveling companion." And she smirked at the idea of challenging Mary's position as queen of everything. She'd attract her own attention at Cliveden.

Mary's eyes shot up in exasperation but said nothing. What was there to say?

XX

That night she pulled out Matthew's latest letter. He was still awaiting final orders for the regiment's mobilization to France. The regiment was being temporarily housed in London awaiting orders. Reluctantly he had agreed to Robert's suggestion that the young footman William Mason become Matthew's soldier servant.

Mary had received his letter the night before. She read it all again. Matthew had privately disclosed to Mary that he did not feel comfortable taking responsibility over Mason's safety.

She read between the lines that he barely knew how to keep himself safe.

Mary got down on her knees beside the bed. She had surreptitiously removed a picture of Matthew from a frame in the library. He had posed for the picture when he first discovered he was the heir. His look was still one of shock. Handsome, of course. But with an air of doubt as to whether he wished that to be his future.

She wanted to take those doubts away. But even now, they burdened him. Why, perhaps, their relationship remained incomplete. No longer engaged, they were together and yet apart.

Her finger briefly touched the photograph. Stroked along his cheek bone. She placed it on the bed a midst her bed linens.

Was this what he really wanted?

But she refused to give into his doubts. Instead she remembered his love.

She took the long piece of soft damask silk cloth from beneath her pillow. Anna had kept it safe there ever since Mary received the gift from Matthew a few weeks previous. The note had read '_Passed a shop in London. Saw this. Thought of you my darling Mary_.'

It was a textured crimson wrap. _'Yours ever in love, Matthew.' _Red. Red the color of love. Of passion.

She put it around her shoulders. It was as if he was in the room with her.

Put her hands together and spoke. Halting, trembling at first. She was not used to this. But felt... felt it necessary to connect. To pray to a God she hoped listened to those in need. So many people in need. So many to listen to.

"Dear Lord, I don't pretend to have much credit with you. I'm not even sure that you're there. But if you are, and if I've ever done anything good, I beg you to keep him safe."

She bowed her head against the linen coverlet suddenly overcome with tiredness. A stretched out, frayed along the edges form of tiredness. As if she was being physically worn down slowly, like the constant walking across a carpet until nothing was left but the strands barely holding the whole together.

The war had already gone on so much longer than anyone seemed to anticipate. And there was no end in sight.

XX

It was as if the war never was. There was boating on the Thames, horses available in the stables, tennis or swimming. Edith played croquet on the lawn. As Mary walked around the grounds she realized, however, that even here was touched by the war. Waldorf Astor had offered up the use of buildings on the far side of the estate to the Canadian Red Cross. She also noticed the adjoining cemetery.

She turned away. Not needing yet another reminder of the closeness of death.

Walking back towards the house, an Italianate mansion on a beautiful slope towards the river, Mary shaded her eyes from the late afternoon sun. Anna would be waiting inside to dress her for dinner. So many people were visiting this week end she was having trouble keeping them all straight.

She could hear the murmur of conversation. The muted laughter from the croquet match. The attempt to keep the real world at bay.

Rosamund arrived soon after Mary and Edith. She had brought a group of friends from London. Including Richard Carlisle.

That man got around. His newspaper circulations were higher than ever. He had been knighted. And now it seemed seriously shopping for a wife.

Mary liked his attentions, even if it was just to spite Edith. Her sister had fawned outrageously over the newspaper baron at dinner the previous night. And Mary found herself falling into habit again.

Anna was waiting for Mary. They chose a demur gown for dinner this second night. Dark green, long sleeved with brocaded gold and silver interlacing. She placed her gloves on as Anna affixed her hair pin.

Edith rapped on Mary's door and the two women walked down to the dining room together. Neither spoke except to exchange pleasantries.

During the dinner both were seated separately. Mary ended up spending the dinner squashed between two of the most boring old dolts she had ever had to endure.

So after dinner, as the two sister walked away from the table, Mary was ready for conversation. And the occasional zinger.

"I wish you do stop your obsequious behavior this evening." Mary said as she adjusted her gloves again. Edith had once again tried to take command of the dinner conversation at her end of the table. It was most unbecoming, Mary thought.

"Why? It's fun and not harming anyone. Least of all you." Edith snapped back.

"He isn't one of us." Mary riposted.

"Neither was Matthew. That didn't seem to stop you." Edith had enough of Mary's attempts to keep all the eligible men to herself. "I remember when you called him 'an old sea monster.'"

"That was a very long time ago." Mary preferred not to remember her initial dismissing of Matthew. It hurt too much. "If you must make conversation try not to simper. Giggling like a ridiculous schoolgirl with Sir Richard is no way to win him, you know." Mary sidled up to Edith as the men stayed to smoke in the dining room.

"I enjoyed it. We seem to have a lot to talk about." Edith baited back. "Reminded me of talking with Matthew when we used to take our walks."

"And look how well that turned out for you." Mary simply could not resist. "I'm sorry Cousin Matthew proved a disappointment." Mary had always known of Edith's interest in all her beaus. First Patrick. Then Matthew. Now even acquaintances seemed to be on her list.

"I know I'm right about Sir Richard. He was very interested in my journalistic ambitions."

Mary snorted. "Spare me your boastings, please." Mary reached the door of the music room and entered.

"Now who's jealous?" Edith couldn't help a moment of triumph.

Mary breathed in. "Jealous? Do you think I couldn't have that old booby if I wanted him?"

What had come over her? She simply had to stop this adolescent bickering. Of course she didn't want Richard Carlisle. Her hand unconsciously slipped beneath the collar of her linen and silk gown. It was where she had hidden Matthew's regimental badge. She wore it always. Sometimes openly. Sometimes hidden.

"Even you can't take every prize." Edith eyed her openly.

This had to end. Once and for all she had to prove to Edith that following around in her wake would only show her up as pathetic.

"Is that a challenge?" Mary's eyebrow raised.

"If you like." Edith rejoined. The two women turned away from each other to make small talk with the other women until the men joined them.

The blood surged within Mary's veins. She knew it was petty. Inconsequential in light of the stark reality of the war, of the world they currently lived in.

Maybe that's why she invited it in. To forget. To replace in her mind the constant anxiety, the constant worry, with something frivolous.

She saw Carlisle enter.

"Ah, I've been waiting for you. I found an article over here and I think it's just the thing to catch your interest." Mary had latched onto snatches of conversation at dinner where Carlisle had been discussing the Marconi scandal of 1912.

Richard leaned over. "I'm intrigued."

Mary made sure to maneuver him behind the divan, away from Edith. She laid her finger against a passage in a political journal belonging to Nancy Astor that indicated members of HH Asquith war cabinet positions might still be linked to that scandal.

"How clever you are Lady Mary. That is exactly what we have to be aware of. Why my newspapers are still hounding the government day and night."

Edith's lament of resignation could be heard across the room.

And for the moment Mary forgot all else but that. And then her triumph immediately turned to ashes.

She had forgotten Matthew. For that moment, that silly triumphal moment she had forgotten. And she would never forgive herself.

Pushing suddenly away from Richard, she had realized she had allowed him too many advances into her personal space. He huddled close to her shoulder. Leaning in to look at the passage indicated.

"Did I do something to offend, Lady Mary?" Richard took a step back. Things had been going so well between them. He had hoped for more. Mary Crawley was a prize. An unattached, as far as he knew, prize. Wooing and winning her would put him in circles of society and politics he yearned to attain. They had met on a couple of occasions at Downton and later in London at Rosamund Painswick's residence. He hoped to pursue the acquaintanceship here.

And she was so very beautiful.

"No." Mary's voice came out far calmer than she actually felt. "I'm quite alright." But she had to get away. The air was suddenly stifling in the room.

"Perhaps we can take a walk tomorrow then? Across the terrace and down into the woodland?" Richard's Scottish burr was soft. Inviting. Or at least he hoped it was.

"We'll see." She stepped deliberately away from him. "But right now I have a headache. I think I'll retire for the evening." Richard stepped away to allow her to brush past him without another word.

She made her good nights to the hosts and retired to her room.

Anna was there to greet her. "My lady I have a telegram for you." Anna had just received the missive from a footman and was just about to go downstairs to ask the butler to retrieve Lady Mary from the after dinner activities.

But now she did not have to.

"A telegram?" Mary's face turned white. Anna's hand was shaking. Both women had already had experiences with bad news being delivered by telegrams. And with the war the situation of friends, acquaintances, and distant relatives wounded or killed in action had become even more commonplace. Sybil had begun to dread reading any newspaper or receiving any letter in the mail for fear it contained yet another death notice.

Of course Mary knew that Matthew was safe. He was not even in France yet. And her father as well.

She ripped it open. Read the contents. Gasped and looked up at Anna.

"It's from Matthew." Her own hand shook now. "His regiment has been called to France. He leaves tomorrow. He's asking if I can make it to London to join the other ladies at the train station."

She didn't know whether to be happy or frightened. Mad with happiness to see Matthew again. Even if just a glimpse on a train platform.

Then the cold reality of knowing she might never see him again. To wave one last time. To see him disappear into the vapors of the smoke from the locomotive engines.

Could she do that?

She gripped Anna's arm. "Go get Rosamund right away." Mary was coherent enough to realize she would need a chaperone. "Tell her we must leave at once for London. I can stay with her. But we must leave now."

Matthew was waiting for her. She would not disappoint him.

XX  
_We'll pick up the story from Matthew's perspective next chapter! _

_Please review. I know we all say this in notes—and all fan fic authors really really mean it—we love reviews and reading your observations!_


	5. Chapter 5: If You Were the Only Girl

_A little Easter egg… hope you like it._

XX

Matthew was getting more and more jumpy. Mary had not arrived on any of the trains that had come and departed Waterloo station.

And his unit was set to go at 8pm. He could hear the raucous laughter from his mates. Everyone was inside the tea room trying not to think about what was to come.

He had seen his mother earlier that day. She had taken the train from Downton station and they had tea in the same tea room that now hosted the families of the soldiers saying their good byes.

Deciding herself to take on more responsibilities with the Red Cross in France she had some hope of seeing her son in Paris at some point.

"We'll have cafe on the Champs-Élysées." She said brightly, covering up her fears. Her boy. Looking so handsome in his khaki uniform and Sam Browne belt.

"I'll look forward to it enormously." He smiled back.

They walked outside. "I...I will see you off now." Isobel surprised him. He thought she'd wait until Mary arrived.

"I think you want to say good bye alone." She knew she discerned right when Matthew blushed a bright pink.

"Mother." His voice cracked. He kissed her on the cheek. She hugged him tight.

"Your father would be so proud of you." Isobel was so reminded of Reggie these days seeing his features in their child as he grew into adulthood. "But he'd also say keep your head down and stay out of trouble."

They laughed. "Very good advice at any time." Matthew said. " I'll do just that."

Isobel left him to his pacing on the station platform.

He rubbed his chin and took another look down. He needed to see Mary one last time. He could not explain even to himself why this had become so important.

He didn't believe in lucky charms or Planchette boards. At least he didn't think he did. Not until now. Mary had become a talisman. She had to come say good bye one last time.

She just had to. He took out the standard issue pocket watch and checked the time again. He bit the side of his lip and squinted in the late day sun, straining his eyes to see down the platform.

Major Peters approached. "Crawley you do know a few more times up and down this platform and you'll have worn a spot to China."

Matthew gave a light laugh. He moved closer to the second in command. "Just waiting for someone."

"Your girl?" Peters asked with a grin. Matthew had proven himself a solid officer in training. Kept his head under fire. But Peters found it odd that the heir to such a vast estate as Downton Abbey would have volunteered so early in the war. It was usually the lack of anyone at home that spurred a man to join up.

So that was a mystery.

Matthew's mouth twitched into a confessional smile. "Yes sir."

"Sit down son." Peters said pointing to the seat on the bench next to where he sat down. "She's not coming any sooner if you do."

Matthew did as he was told.

"So." Peters started in. "I need some volunteers for a thing my wife is fixing up. Something to entertain the wives and families while we wait for the train."

"Oh yes?" Matthew queried.

"How's your singing?"

"Uh… I have about two good notes in my repertoire." He had sung at school in choir. But he didn't know what the major intended.

"Good enough. Come with me." He pushed up from the bench. "Take your mind off things."

Matthew looked up and gave Peters a wry grin. "I've already been told by Sgt. Major Tanner that I was daft for signing up in the first place. So the best thing I could do for myself was never to volunteer unless drafted."

"Then get up Lieutenant Crawley." Peters directed with a guffaw. "Consider yourself drafted."

They made their way past the tea room and out to the open platform at the back. Families, children running around, wives in small groups talking to each other took up the space.

Peters walked Matthew over to the group of soldiers standing around a piano. The pianist was tinkering to try to tune the tinny instrument.

The soldiers all had lyric sheet in their hands.

"Go on then…." And Peters walked off towards his wife. Leaving Matthew with a sheet of music shoved in his hands. The piano started playing and the other soldiers started in with the lyrics. Matthew walked over to the spot indicated by the pianist conductor.

They began to sing:

" _**Some times when I feel bad and things look blue  
I wish a pal I had, say one like you  
Someone within my heart to build a throne  
Someone who'd never part to call my own**_

The organist said throwing his hand out to the gathering crowd of family members "Everyone join in!"

_**If you were the only girl in the world and I were the only boy**_

Matthew knew the song and began to enjoy listening to everyone sing along. His strong baritone joined in….

ALL  
_**Nothing else would matter in the world today  
We could go on loving in the same old way**_

Matthew stopped suddenly. He looked over the crowd. A hat. A familiar red hat. The darker feathers. The shiny pin. He smiled.

Mary is standing there. Nervously looking around the crowd.

He didn't know if he should wave to her.

ALL  
_**A garden of Eden just made for two  
With nothing to mar our joy**_

He continued to bore his eyes in her direction wishing her to find him on the stage, while she scanned the women and children and groups of soldiers.

Matthew stared. His mouth agape but no words escaping. He could no longer sing. She just had to see him.

Matthew is nudged and starts singing again. This time he tried to directly sing at Mary

. _**I would say such wonderful things to you**_

Mary walked closer to stage.  
_  
__**There would be such wonderful things to do **_**  
**_** If you were the only girl in the world and I were the only boy **_

She stood next to Mrs. Peters. The major's wife noticed her bewilderment. She took Mary's hand and whispered something to her.

Matthew's heart took flight. Mrs. Peters turned to her husband. Major Peters leaned in, listened to Mary's question. Smiled. And pointed directly at Matthew standing in the second row of the choir of singers on the makeshift platform.

Mary looked towards the stage.

Matthew's face lit up. His eyes opened wide and he grinned.

Their eyes met. He mouthed her name "Mary."

She waved shyly.

Matthew was nudged again and this time he began to sing in earnest. They never broke the direct gaze.

_**I would say such wonderful things to you**__  
__**There would be such wonderful things to do **_**  
**_** If you were the only girl in the world and I were the only boy **_

The applause and cries from the crowd were muffled in Matthew's ears. His tunnel vision saw only Mary.

The song ended. The soldiers finally broke apart and went to join their families. Matthew stepped cautiously down the steps and towards Mary. He felt like rushing but steadied himself.

They were out in public after all.

She met him at the bottom step. She held out her gloved hands and he entwined his own into hers. He looked around and then boldly reached out and took off her left glove. He kissed the palm of her hand.

He had to feel her skin next to his lips. It was soft. The flesh warm. The scent of jasmine just barely apparent on her wrist.

It made him feel again. He had been numb all day. Waiting for her. Thinking she would not make it. Thinking he'd be off to France and God knows what without seeing her again. He had dashed off that telegram the previous night with only the vaguest of hopes she'd actually arrive.

And here she was.

"Matthew." Mary's voice gave way her surprise at his action. But her grin equaled his and her eyes spoke of the same need. The need that grew every second they were together. A need that would not be completely slaked, he knew, with a simple kiss. He wanted her the way only a man passionately in love could want a woman. He knew it. He was terribly afraid he'd throw convention out the window if they could ever be alone together.

But now a kiss.

For now that would have to do.

He put the glove back on. Held out his arm for her to take it. They walked, more respectably arm in arm, around the crowds of wives, sweethearts, and children seeing their men off to war.

"Are you here alone?" He asked, astonished if she was.

Mary gave him a bold grin of her own. "No." She side eyed him. "But I gave Aunt Rosamund the slip two blocks before the train station. I don't think she's arrived just yet."

Their conspiratorial laughter only encouraged him to want to kiss her again. Quickly now before Rosamund arrived.

They slipped around the corner of the station. Not quite private. But outside the view of anyone just entering Waterloo.

"Mary." His voice cracked with emotion. "Mary." His hands gripped hers tighter. She felt the tremble he was trying to hide.

"Will I be able to write to you?" She asked.

"Yes." He replied "Write to the regiment. They'll get it to me. Please write a lot. I think…" he swallowed. "I think I'll need all the reminders of home."

Mary was glad he thought of Downton now as home. She nodded, not sure her voice would be steady enough.

He looked around. No one yet appeared. His hands, ungloved, came up around her neck. Her skin tingled at his touch. He lightly played with a curl of hair escaping from beneath her hat. His breath hot as he put his head on her shoulder.

"Do you still love me?" He asked tenderly, into her hair.

She shivered at his touch. "Yes." But her mouth began to vibrate and her answer came out with a breath that caught in the back of her throat. She wasn't sure she would ever take another breath.

"Shhh…" Matthew's lips turned to her cheek. His hands gripped hers tighter. "I think we've done this before. We need to stop saying good-bye at train stations." The attempt at levity falling flat as each took in the other's tear filled eyes.

"I love you Lady Mary Crawley. And I promise to all in my power to come back to you." Matthew leaned in and gave her lips a quick kiss.

She responded with a long, lingering one. "Make sure you do."

"Sealed with a kiss." He said, putting his gloves and cap back on. "It's a guarantee now."

The piercing train whistle was his signal. Then the regimental Sgt. Major's whistle followed it up.

"Time to go." He swallowed. Put his shoulders back. Squared them as he was taught.

They walked back out towards the main throng at the platform. Mary could see Rosamund scanning the crowd. She gave no signal to her aunt.

Not just yet.

Major Peter's wife, Eliza Peters, however, noticed Mary. She began to walk over to the younger woman.

Matthew had let go of Mary's hand. Slowly let go of her hand. He grabbed his kit bag from the seat where he had left it. Turned back around for one last look. And boarded the train.

Mary noticed some of the women running to the train car doors.

Mrs. Peters stayed Mary's steps as she tried to do the same. "No my dear. We wait here now. As the wives and sweethearts of the officers we need to show restraint. We need to show them that we're strong enough to see them off to fight without any weeping or wailing or carrying on."

Mary's head came up. Her chin steadied. She would be strong for Matthew.

The children laughed and waved little union jack flags as the train started to move. Their laughter buoyed the spirits of those left behind.

Matthew had managed to get to a window. He scanned to see Mary. Mrs. Peters had taken her under her wing. That was good, Matthew thought. Mary could use a friend.

Mary found his eyes as he found hers. His fingers came to his lips and he blew her a kiss. Undignified be damned, he thought. He'd miss her like hell.

Leaving for France, for the front, he knew he was going needed this memory burned into his brain. He now had something to think about at night. More things of home to take with him into the nightmare of where he was going.

His eyes turned hollow. His lips curled in fear.

XX

_Next chapter Matthew at Loos. The story will get darker, more angsty for sure at this point. But there will be a tender reunion with Mary. One I think you'll like. _


	6. Chapter 6: Let Battle Commence Loos 1915

"_We did not know what it was like. We will do all right next time…"_

_**26 September 1915 Loos the second day **_

_Private Hugh Bruce of the Cameron Highlanders took the bullet in his stomach. The blood pooled and stained his grey back shirt. The field ambulance was already picking up the wounded. Bruce would be next. He'd be taken back to an aid station near Lillers but would die of his wounds a few days later. _

_He was not the first to die that day….nor the last._

XX

**Three weeks previous: Sept 1915**

_**Rouen**_

Captain Simon Heyton, in the back seat alongside Matthew, leaned over as the driver pulled the car up to the depot station. "Thank God." The ride from their reserve trench at Artois to Rouen to pick up the new recruits had been rough. The truck bumped along the rutted, mud splattered roads and even as their soldier servants had polished and pressed uniforms and boots, both men and the driver in the open truck were windblown and sprayed with roadside muck.

Their orders were to wait for the train and greet the new officers and take them back along with the convoy of enlisted personnel back to the Artois/Loos corridor to await final orders to engage the Germans and take the city of Loos and the surrounding terrain.

"They'll be a motley lot for sure. Fresh faced and eager." He pulled his hair over his head and replaced his cap. "Were we ever like that?" His face, made more mature by the handsome mustache, Simon spoke with a sardonic mockery that made Matthew smile despite his own growing awareness that they were now veterans. Simon even more so having been through OTC at Cambridge and had seen service since Sept 1914. This made him an old-timer simply because the Regular Army, the "Old Contemptibles" had all been shot and killed.

Matthew's own experience of the past three months had aged him as well. He felt ancient, beaten down- had seen more, had done more than he had ever estimated to by the age of 26. The friendship with Heyton was unexpected but that much more appreciated. Heyton had guided the fear stricken younger man in his first days in the surreal environs of the trench line. The smells of gunpowder residue, creosol chloride, latrines, and dried sweat assaulted his senses. Simon had smiled as Matthew's lips had curled into a scowl. "You'll get used to it before you know it." Matthew already sensed the 'hail fellow well met' act was something Heyton perfected to hide his own strangulating fears, but it was much appreciated in those first few weeks.

Looking around Rouen, the magnificent Gothic Cathedral looming over the town, Matthew felt he could at least breathe without the suffocating tightness he always felt on the front lines or in the reserve trenches. He had seen the Monet's impressionist capturing of the cathedral and had hoped to at least get the chance to walk around the grounds.

The two men had happily been volunteered to go retrieve the soldiers and supplies that would fill the ranks of the platoons to the numbers requisite for the action to come. Their only responsibilities were to confirm the arrival of the supplies and men, sign the forms, and make sure they were all headed back towards the Artois corridor.

The rest of the time was their own. Heyton was even more pleased to learn that the troop train from Boulogne was delayed. So they could take some rest at a café or canteen.

He espied one such establishment 'Le Croix de Guerre.' "That seems to cater to our lot, let's try it out. I could use a drink after that ride." The creaky door, dirty windows, and general air of stale beer did not tempt Matthew's taste buds, but he could use the quiet, and the rest. And a brandy or liqueur would not go amiss.

The two men sat at down opposite each other at a half booth. Heyton took his cap off and loosened his greatcoat. Just as soon as they were seated, two women approached.

Thinking they were going to serve the drinks Matthew looked up to give his order.

He looked up and straight into the ample bosom of the woman wearing a low cut, if shabby, dress. Her face was a little too made up but she had mesmerizing green eyes.

Matthew's own pupils dilated as big as saucers at the unexpected sight. She gave what passed as a coy come hither smile to the obviously interested young man. "Il ya plus de cette étage, si vous voulez ... "

Matthew swallowed hard, his school French just understanding her meaning. "No..." He stammered. Then, as a hushed chirp, "erm…peut-etreplus tard."

She looked over at Heyton who simply shook his head. Giving a little moue of distaste, she sauntered off to see to the other potential clients.

Crawley's rather benign rebuff made Heyton give out a raucous grunt. He leaned over the table. "Does that mean I need to leave the two of you alone later?" He joked.

Matthew, startled anew that his attempt at a polite refusal might have been misconstrued, turned a beet red and slumped back in his chair. It wasn't as if he hadn't had some experiences with prostitutes plying trade at the pubs near his college.

But he must have appeared repulsed as Heyton turned serious.

"Something else you're going to have to get used to Crawley if you're going to lead your platoon correctly. The men need relief. How they get it…well …" He sighed in resignation, "We can't always judge."

"I know. I understand. … Have you ever…?" Matthew even hesitated to ask. He knew Heyton was married, but that didn't, in Matthew's experience, seem to affect some men.

"God no. The wife would kill me." He winked, then got serious again. "I have, very fortunately, no need or desire to seek attentions outside the confines of my marriage. She's in Paris with the British Embassy."

Matthew was surprised. "That's very lucky to have your wife so close." His own thoughts turned to Mary.

"You must meet Margaret one day. If we ever get leave to go to Paris, we'll all have dinner."

Their brandies arrived and he drank his in one gulp. Looked over at Matthew. "We're both lucky to have loved ones." He knew of Matthew's girl back home. The one he was still so private about. One day he'd have to draw more information out of him.

Matthew nodded, his lips tight. He missed Mary. Not just as a touchstone of home but her being, her warmth, the smell of her perfume, the sound of her laugh. Drifting back from his reverie, he returned his attention to Heyton.

"It's becoming more and more of a problem actually. One I'm afraid the BEF is handling rather poorly by simply ignoring it or allowing for _maisons tolérées _to exist with a wink and a nod outside the purview of our authority."

Matthew nodded already knowing that many of the men in his own company were susceptible to the escape. It had been his unpopular duty to remind them of the consequences of such liaisons, both morally as well as in the transmission of sexual diseases.

Heyton stood up. "Shall we sally forth?" He took on the imitation of their CO. Colonel Hitchcock was a good soldier, but of the old school. Something Heyton found increasingly intolerable. Afraid that in following the rules of honour, he might get all of them killed. But he kept such opinions to himself.

Matthew, finishing his drink, stood up as well. Placed his cap and turned towards the door. They still needed to find their billet and get organized to meet the new recruits.

Then back to the front and the unreality his new life had become.

**One week previous: Sept 1915**

**Loos corridor**

Matthew had orders from above to go out on patrol. Snipers were suspected of being hidden in the small clump of trees about a half mile away. It had been raining hard. "What else is new?" Matthew thought as he put on his Brodie helmet, ducked his head out the dugout, and followed Mason down the line.

He reminded his subaltern, "I want every wounded man taken down the line before it starts to get dark. We've bloody well lost enough of them for one day." He then motioned for his chosen patrol towards the duckboards leading to the edge of the trench and the ladder over the top.

There were plenty of puddles and his boots once again squished muddy and soaked. He had not shaved in two days because of such patrols. The Huns had been moving back and forth picking off soldiers in their trench line moving in the dark of night to another position.

This had to end.

Matthew led the squad of his men into a small copse. They spread out and began a methodical search. He sent Mason and another corporal Peter Riley to his right, while Matthew noticed what seemed to be a peculiar divide in what passed for a green glade among the few shade trees left on the battle scarred valley. He made a move towards it. Quietly he pulled back some leaves.

Two Germans, one with a Mauser rifle the other with binoculars in his hands, turned towards him. The sniper desperately attempted to swing his rifle in Matthew's direction while his observer struggled to pull his bayonet out of its sheath.

Without thought or hesitation Matthew pulled his sidearm out and shot them.

Dead.

The close range meant that the blood splattered on his face. His tunic. And his boots. Mason would be upset at that, Matthew's muddled mind thought. He blinked. Then the blinking stopped. He stared. At the bodies of the men, the enemy he had shot. Then stared beyond them into nothingness.

He stood, frozen to the spot, until Riley came over to him and led him to a stump of a tree so he could sit down. He motioned to Mason who came over, concerned at the pallor of Matthew's skin and the unnerving calm he seemed to present.

"Sir." Riley said, calmly seeing the glazed dead-eye stare of Matthew, "why don't you just sit down here. I'll go get Capt. Heyton and come back for you." He motioned to Mason. "Private, why don't you sit with the lieutenant." Mason sat down next to Matthew on a tree stump.

Riley stepped away from Crawley, went over to the bodies of the Germans, kicked them to see if they were really dead, grunted in satisfaction, and walked the half mile back to the dugout.

Matthew had recovered enough of his senses by the time Simon arrived. But the shaking had begun.

And it did not stop until well into the night when he finally, from sheer exhaustion, fell into a fitful sleep.

**24-25 September 1915 Colonel Hitchcock's dugout**

Matthew sat in the C.O.'s tent attending the weekly 'pow wow' with all the officers of the battalion. This was his first such meeting as captain. He was in the back alongside Heyton who always managed to look cool as ice no matter the situation. Matthew sat on a wood sideboard as there were no more seats in the cramped dugout. Simon passed him a cigarette pack.

The colonel was telling them the current battle was part of the larger Anglo-French attack against German lines. They were to dig in and wire all night in preparation for any counter attack. Colonel Hitchcock's final order was to "Go and tell your companies what they are up against."

The battle was to commence at 0630.

Matthew had just been promoted. The despatches a week previous went back to England, "For exemplary calm under fire" in his shooting of the German snipers. He was to be put up for a Military Cross.

Matthew actually laughed when he read that. He considered it the height of irony. He had been scared to the bone. The insomnia, the shaking were still with him. Instinct and raw fear saw him through pulling that trigger. Nothing brave or calm about it. Robert would like it, Matthew thought dryly. He'd certainly boast about it to everyone back at Downton. He wasn't quite ready to think of himself as any kind of hero.

And now he was in a dead man's shoes. He had taken over the infantry company of Captain Benson- a man far braver, than or just perhaps just as brave or foolish as any of them Matthew thought. Benson had repeated the same phrase to his men as they went forward during his last action: "Come on, my lads, show them what we are…." He was gunned down by machine gun fire that lifted him bodily off the ground and slammed him back to earth.

Matthew's rapid promotion however saw a steep learning curve as he adjusted from leading a platoon, to the gut-wrenching responsibility of commanding a 240-man Infantry Company in the worst hours of yet another seemingly poorly planned battle. He was not, however, to question authority. The consequences of that had been laid bald in more than one regiment with officers told to shoot any coward- anyone who refused to go over the top, anyone who questioned the chain of command.

Even so he was not the youngest captain in the battalion as the war had decimated so many regular army that field promotions were now quite regular among the junior officers.

He kept his own mind as to the veracity of the French general's Joffre assurances that the British would find particularly favorable ground between Loos and La Bassee. Joffre, Matthew realized, with his legal cognizance of parsing words in every despatch, never bothered to enter into explanation the reasons he considered the ground favorable.

We do what we do because we obey the orders given to us. He was never very good at that.

They were also being told that gas would work wonders as it would allow the widening of the front from a two to a six division assault. The canisters would be released hours before the battle commenced.

Of course, as Heyton leaned in to whisper half crooked mouth, "Gas also poisons us and will not destroy the miles of coiled barbed wire the Germans have strung across No Man's Land like some great snaking centipede."

Matthew grunted in utter exhaustion and backed his head against the wall of the dugout. Closed his eyes. And resigned himself to what was to come.

**The road from Bethune to Lens 26 Sept 1915**

The bodies were everywhere. Matthew would hear later that the total numbered over 5400 on the first day alone. Sixty percent of the division. With many battalions completely annihilated. Royal Welsh Fusilier captain Robert Graves would later tell the infamous tale of trying to rouse his soldiers to fight "you bloody cowards" he shouted until his platoon-sergeant, leg broken and on the ground, screamed back "Not cowards, sir. Willing enough. But they're all fucking dead."

Matthew stepped aside several wounded soldiers as the RAMC brought stretchers. He tried not to look at the men. Shot, gassed, their faces contorted in fear and pain.

It was like walking through green gauze. A shroud. Ready to take them into the West. Where death lay.

The London Territorials had charged the German trenches between "Tower Bridge" and the Double Crassier the previous day. They had to wear the horribly suffocating respirator gas masks but emerged on to the front of the German line.

According to the reports that filtered through the lines the inquisition style gas hoods took the Germans by surprise but they soon recovered. The fight ended with a German surrender of the machine gun nest.

But the battle continued.

His own platoons were to go next. The Highlanders and Territorials had done well. But the Duke of Manchester's Own would be among the ones to see the assault to the conclusion.

The gas cloud lingered, hovering above and within the trenches.

Rumoured doubts about the use of gas had breathed through the regiments for days. Even General Haig had finally expressed some doubt and wanted to call it off. But there was no time to communicate such an order to all the trenches. So the gas was released. "The accessory programme must be carried out whatever the conditions…." They were to continue forward.

And the conditions meant that the gas, their own gas, had lingered over the trenches. Suffocating. Stinking. Hissing. Greenish yellow in color and burning as it met eyes and noses and mouths. They had been first discharged on 25 September at zero hour 6:30am. 140 tons of chlorine gas from 5100 cylinders. The German forward guns chattered, firing warning shots but it had been surprisingly halfhearted.

As if they knew the wind was in their favor.

The British had gassed their own men.

The Highlander's assault had been seriously impeded by the gas cloud, hanging over the congested trenches.

The men hoped, prayed the wind would change direction. It did not.

Scottish Piper Daniel Laidlaw threw off his mask, jumped up to the trench parapet, and marched up and down the playing _Scotland the Brave_ regardless of the green gas. No wonder, Matthew thought. the Scottish regiments were called 'the ladies from Hell' with their kilts and their mad ideas of fighting.

Eventually the Scots regiments penetrated the German lines and took on the enemy's fire. They ascended Hill 70 with a cheer and over the crest.

Matthew's platoons and the rest of his regiment would reinforce the Scots position and attempt to move the front even further. They had to cut the wire, penetrate across Grenay Ridge unobserved and continue patrolling at night while they investigated the results of the daytime assaults. But amendments to the attack plan, made at the last minute, had weakened divisional concentration along the main advance and threatened the entire operation.

"What else was new?" had become Matthew's recurrent phrase. He pushed his eyeballs into his skull with his fingers to stay awake. God he was fucking tired. Threw down his helmet and slumped down on the cot. Picked up the letter on the makeshift night table.

Mason knew what would come next. And sure enough Matthew's hand slipped into his tunic pocket. He pulled out the leather billfold. He didn't open it. Just held it. Tight.

William beamed in secret knowledge that Matthew's routine never wavered. He continued to polish the boot buckles.

Matthew patted the leather of the billfold. The leather buffed from his constant, reflexive rubbing.

The picture inside was the one Mary had sent him. She was seated wearing a gown of silk and pearl inlay. A string of beads around her neck. A wistful, enigmatic smile. She stared directly at the camera.

Directly at Matthew.

Why he had a hard time looking at the actual photograph. Like it stared into his soul.

He reserved that delight, that painful pleasure for late night imaginings. He would open it by candlelight. Touch the print. His fingertip on her cheek. His fantasies had become quite erotic of late. Everything was soft and yielding; alabaster skin, tendrils of hair, the removal of silk—gossamer, sheer, smooth as it came away from her body and into his hands.

He wasn't sure if that was a betrayal of her trust. Her innocence. But it could not be helped. The thoughts would not be kept at bay. He justified it in his mind by being sparing. Only indulged in it on nights where the terrors were particularly invasive. She was his sanity.

But this night he just held the closed billfold. Took a swig of the whisky Heyton left the previous night when they had a five hour session of the Piquet pick up and discard card game they had partially reinvented between the two of them.

Up for the last 36 hours. Fitful naps. Patrols all day. The guns had gone all night.

He attempted to close his eyes. But he knew sleep would not come. He looked over his letter at his soldier servant. So far so good in the keep Mason out of harm's way.

Mason continued his re-polishing attentions. What a wasted effort Matthew would say to him in an attempt at playful humour. They would just get muddy again the next day. Sort of like the war, Matthew concluded. An endless series making the same effort over and over and assume, somehow, miraculously, the next time it wouldn't be in all futility. Isn't that the definition of madness?

"It's the effort that counts." Mason would quietly counter. "Good effort is its own reward Mr. Carson would say, sir. And spit and polish and some elbow grease never goes amiss."

He looked askance at Matthew who had looked up at the reference to the old butler at Downton. "It's the Army way now Mason, as well you know."

Matthew returned to his reading. The letter was from Mary.

Why he was in such a good mood despite the exhaustion. Her missive was chatty, gossipy. Just the tonic, she well knew by now, to cure his darker moods. Edith's farmer had no longer any need of her tractor skills, so maybe she'll hire herself out as milk maid next. She suspected Sybil of engaging in some kind of secret rendezvous in the car shed with the chauffeur. She'd have to keep an eye on them.

Matthew learned that Cora was learning to drive and that while Granny Violet needed adjusting to the new conditions at Downton as it transitioned completely to a hospital, she, as ever, turned out to be the strongest of them all.

He'd hardly recognize Downton or its inhabitants at this rate.

So many changes. How would it affect Mary, he wondered. She was so much more independent now. No longer just resigned to parties and a waiting room for a husband, she was running Downton as efficient as ever.

Would he fit in at all anymore?

That's just hopeless talk, he reminded himself. Yet when he thought of his life at Downton it seemed like another world.

XX

**Early October 1915**

The German shell burst close by followed at once by two more salvos, dead on Matthew. He dived into the sunken road and immediately felt the crunch of bone as his leg came out from under him in the mud.

Matthew thought sardonically prior to passing out from the pain: "We will do alright next time…"

He arrived at the aid station in Lillers. Woke up to find his leg in traction. The nurse hovering. He looked questioning at her. "A good clean break Captain Crawley. But it will take some time to heal. We've set it temporarily but you're being shipped back to London Hospital for a proper good look."

He grunted. Blighty at last.

Woke up again to a familiar face. "Thomas isn't it?" The former footman at Downton he remembered was now a RAMC corpsman.

"Corporal Barrow as now, sir." The dark eyed man replied. "How are you feeling today? You're in the next van to Boulogne. Would you like some tea, sir? We've got condensed milk and sugar."

"I won't ask how you managed that." Matthew sat up a bit with Barrow's help.

"I have my methods. Go on, sir."

"That's nectar. You sure you can spare it?"

"Gladly. If we could talk about the old days and forget about all this for a minute or two."

"Yes." Matthew put his head back on the pillow, exhausted from just that little effort.

"Do you ever hear from anyone?"He asked as Barrow pulled up a chair.

"Oh, yes. Miss O'Brien keeps me informed. Lady Edith's driving. Lady Sybil's training as a nurse. Miss O'Brien tells me that Downton is now a hospital and is busier than ever with the wounded coming in. That true?" Barrow leaned in to talk closer.

Matthew nodded. Mary had told him the same. "Yes I believe so. They're putting on charity concerts as well."

"Will you be visiting there on your leave?" Barrow asked.

"I…." Matthew hesitated. He had just been informed that in addition to his stay in a hospital in London he had convalescent time coming to him. "Er…. We'll have to see." He wasn't completely sure his mother was at Crawley House as her job with the Red Cross often took her to France. Not that they had any chance to see each other.

But he wasn't sure he was completely ready to face Downton. To face going home. To put on that mask again and have cigars with Robert and chuff at his jokes.

But he did want to see Mary. He was desperate to see her. But would she recognize him? Not his physical injury, but his psyche. He felt like a completely different man after Loos. After the incident in the green glade.

He turned back to Barrow. "Thanks for the tea."

Thomas grinned. "What would my mother say? Me entertaining the future Earl of Grantham for tea."

Matthew tried to smile back at his amusement. "War has a way of distinguishing between the things that matter and the things that don't."

And well he knew it. He would find it in himself to see Mary on this leave. To hold her once again in his arms.

The things that mattered…

XX

_Please Please Please leave a review! I'm not sure at all that you like? Hate? this story. This story means a lot to me… And I would love to know your thoughts. Matthew and Mary will get together in the next chapter, no fear… I know some folks are mighty looking forward to that… _

_All the information about Loos can be found in numerous sources. I used Edwin Campion Vaughan's Diary _**Some Desperate Glory**_, Stephen Shea's _**Back to the Front**_, and the military classic _**The Donkeys**_ by Alan Clark as my main source material for all the information provided on the battle. Hugh Bruce was my relative._

_British casualties in the main attack were 48,367 and 10,880 in the subsidiary attack, a total of 59,247 losses of the 285,107 casualties on the Western Front in 1915. Edmonds, the British Official Historian, gave German losses in the period 21 September – 10 October as c. 26,000 of c. 141,000 casualties on the Western Front, during the autumn offensives in Artois and Champagne. [wikipedia]_


	7. Chapter 7: If We Just Lay Here

**Hello. This is the new canon story chapter. I know that I usually work two chapters of the canon story then followed by a couple new chapters of "Three Strikes" my modern MM story. But to be honest, I'm still working out the plot of the next section of that story in my head. I need to be sure that what I'm doing in this section of that story is the correct path.  
So instead here is Matthew on leave in England, recuperating from his leg injury, and gets an unexpected but sweetly anticipated visit from Mary while at Crawley House. I hope you enjoy it. Please review this story and tell me what you think. I love hearing from you!**

**X**X**  
10 December 1915**

The brush slid through the strands of her hair. Having already released the tresses from the confines of pins, twists, and bands it was simply a matter of working out the knots without pulling. Letting the brush slide off the tangle, worked it down, and eventually untying it at the end. Starting back and the top, smoother going now.

Now if he could only get to those loose strands around her delicate, beautifully formed ear lobe. "Lean closer." His warm breath tingled against her ear as he kissed it.

Mary inclined her head back even further. She felt his fingers glide through the length of her hair. He grunted in satisfaction. He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent.

"There." He moved his hand to take her chin and turned it towards him. The kiss deep and sensual.

Her eyes gave him a completely unguarded look.

"Charge for services rendered…." His grin was silky, enticing. Mary curved her body so that she fit into the crook of his arm. Settled herself against his chest. The hair, so lovingly brushed, spread out against the bareness of his torso.

"You shouldn't have bought me such an extravagant present." She was admiring once again the solid silver floral garland with engraved cartouche bristle brush that Matthew had just been so expertly wielding.

"I wanted to." Their lips met again and all talk ceased.

XX

**Six weeks previous**

Matthew's time at the London Hospital had been uneventful. At least as far as his injury recovery. The leg was set expertly in a cast. He hobbled around for a few weeks on crutches. Then the examination. It was declared fit enough to return to duty after a brief convalescence.

"That can be done here…" The doctor said examining Matthew' reflexes and movement. "Or in York. I see you're from Downton Village. You know there's a hospital there now at the manor estate…"

"Yes I know that." The cutting tone cut the doctor off short. "Thank you but …." Everyone had reminded him of that when they looked at his chart. "I'll start out here….and" his voice caught in the back of his throat. He coughed. "And then I'll decide what to do. When do I go back?"

"Back where Captain Crawley?" The doctor looked up from the chart.

"To France." Matthew said with as much calm as he could muster. He needed to get back. To his regiment. To the men he left behind.

"Well that won't be for at least a few more weeks. And of course even then you will be put on light duties away from any action at the front. Can't have you reinjuring it."

The doctor gave Matthew the same funny look that everyone did when he mentioned his desire to return to the fighting.

To think he was anxious to return to France. To his regiment and company seemed absurd. "You're away man," the bunkmate nearest to his said." Who wants to go back?"

It wasn't that he especially wanted to go back. He felt responsible enough to his command to go back. To lead young Billy Watkins out on his first patrol. To see that Mason remained safe and sound. To endure alongside those who endured.

It wasn't easily explained to others. Some got it. Others did not. Some of the soldiers could not wait to return to their homes. To have a meal with the family. To finally live out the dreams that had kept them sane at the front. Others were afraid they had changed too much. Somehow made different by their experiences, their loved ones would no longer recognize them.

Neither really fit Matthew's attitude. His reluctance to go home, or to see anyone from home, came from a place deep inside his soul. Home was home. Safe. Secure. Untouched. He needed to keep seeing it that way in his mind's eye. His mother, still at Crawley House full time fussing and directing the kitchen staff. Sybil, young and rebellious going against her father's wishes to attend a political rally. Edith and Mary bickering. Robert and Violet the proud generations of Downton who had withstood far flung wars in past generations.

But nothing ever stayed the same. Especially in war.

He knew he'd have to go back sometime and shatter those illusion. To see Downton how it is now. As a hospital. Full of the same kind of wounded, vomiting, soul scared men that currently surrounded him. To continue this existing nightmare into the life he used to live.

But not yet.

So he stayed on in London.

When the doctor told him he had to get up and start walking to exercise his leg, he took to ambling around the floor of the hospital first, then outside and around the block, and then finally with the help of a cane, around the city streets of London. He espied the brush and comb set in a velvet box outside a silversmith's shop. Without thought he walked in, pointed out his desired purchase, and had Mary's initials engraved on the spot betwixt all the flowers on the back of the brush.

Funny, he thought pleasantly at the utter joyful irony of it all, she'd never have to change her initials. For when they married, they'd remain the same.

Married. Yes. He was definitely thinking of making (or in their case) remaking their relationship formalized. If anything was to bring him back to Downton it would be that.

The rest of the time he simply walked the city streets of London alone. Content with hearing the sounds of horse carts and automobiles, of people and crying babies, of hawkers of goods and newspapers.

Of life.

XX

For Mary the knowledge that Matthew was in hospital in London had been delivered by a handwritten letter. She spied the different address immediately. Tore it open and devoured his words. She had not heard from him in weeks. Isobel was in France, although expected back within a fortnight and so her information came only from Matthew. And he had clearly waited to tell her that he was back in England.

He was quite adamant, kind but firm, that she remain in York during his recovery. The hospital in London was not a place he wished anyone to visit. She read between the lines that he too now experienced the howling in the night of soldiers reliving past battle, past pain. Even though Downton had taken on the role of hospital, it really only saw light injuries and convalescing soldiers who needed the fresh air and quiet atmosphere of a country estate. But those who stayed to recuperate were susceptible still to disturbing the peace of the inhabitants at the odd hour of the night.

Those were sounds Mary would not soon forget. In her deepest thoughts at night, as the keening sound echoed the halls of her childhood home, she knew things would never be the same.

That Matthew would never be the same. Did he howl at night? Could she share with him her own experiences of Downton? Or would he say they were not the same? That she could never understand.

But she did need to see him. So she wrote: _My darling Matthew, I understand your reluctance and will not pursue any trip to London. Be well and get stronger every day so that we can meet when you are fully recovered and able to visit Downton while on your leave. My thoughts are of you all times of the day and night. Yours always, Mary._

She fell asleep with his wrap around her shoulders.

XX

**10 December 1915**

Mary left Statler Hall early in the evening. The meeting of Lady Statler's charity commission had ended early much to Mary's relief. She had spent previous meetings so late that she ended up spending the night at the Hall. This night, however, Mrs. Edwards was absent and so was her long winded itinerary of needs. So they called it a night and Mary slipped out after the good byes to walk home.

She liked the stroll through the village. Quiet and peaceful and without any heavy snow or sleet. Just a chill in the brisk December air.

As she turned the corner, a light in a window caught her attention.

A light at Crawley House. Her heart, so notoriously absent of feeling, leapt into her throat. Isobel was still in France, her boat delayed by weather in the Channel. Molesley was helping out at the Abbey while Mrs. Bird visited an ailing relative.

That left only one possible resident for Crawley House.

Her pace quickened as she approached the gate. The light inside was dim but definitely not any reflection.

A gentle tap on the door. A listen for a response which yielded nothing for the next agonizing minute. She could not be wrong. Matthew must be home.

Of course she really should not be rapping a gentleman's door with no chaperone. And Matthew should have informed Lord Grantham that he had returned to the village so he could be properly welcomed back. But he had not. Instead she had not heard from Matthew since a week gone and his last letter which had indicated he might not get leave after all.

She had to know one way or the other.

A quick glance showed no one else on the street. She'd risk it. And knocked again.

A hushed "Come in" greeted her second knock. The door was open as she twisted the knob. It creaked a bit but soon Mary was in the vestibule, pitch black with only a streak of light coming from under the door of the morning room.

"Hello?" She called out.

"In here." Was the firm, but still muffled response.

With the sure knowledge that voice was indeed Matthew's Mary determinedly opened the door to Isobel's morning room. He was sitting in a chair, hair disheveled and a fuzzy beard of about two days growth unshaven on his chin.

She was startled at his appearance, but tried not to look it. He had a haunted look about his eyes. Bleary from lack of sleep, but also a bit too wide eyed and unfocused. She wondered if he had been drinking, but saw no evidence of such.

Instead it looked like he was camping out. Matthew had taken over the floor space of the morning room and had manufactured a kind of sleeping arrangement with blankets and covers around the fireplace.

"Hello my darling." Matthew's head had turned as the door opened. His hand was gripped tight on the armchair to calm his nerves. He tried to steady his voice by joking, "I thought it was your voice. I was rather hoping it was you and not some constable investigating a mysterious light."

"I saw the light from the street." She walked further into the room. "No one is supposed to be here. I thought you knew that Isobel's arrival was delayed."

"It's just me." He started to get up, shaking as his leg had fallen asleep while he sat in the chair. "I took a chance on Mother. But yes it seems we will miss each other."

Mary was confused. "How long have you been here? Why didn't you tell us you'd arrive? We'd have made room for you at Downton."

Which was exactly what Matthew hoped to avoid. Why he hunkered down in the morning room as soon as he realized his mother was absent and no servants were about. He considered phoning Robert or Mary but had put it off for a day. One more day to stop the war from invading. To stop the ringing in his ears.

He said instead, "I didn't quite realize how hard it would be to manage the stairs up and down to my room, and it was cold so I decided to rummage around the closets and camp out here and make explanations to Molesley after. I'm sure he won't approve."

The fire in the hearth was roaring and warm. "I managed the fire. But I have to admit that so far, the stove has defeated me. I will have to get Mrs. Bird to instruct me on how better to start a fire in a cold stove on a very cold day. It can be a frustrating and smoky experience." He was trying to keep the conversation light. To not let on that he would have felt trapped at Downton, by their kindness. By their suffocating need to pretend for his sake. "I would desperately love a cup of tea though."

"Maybe I should go." Mary smiled at his effort. But she nervously glanced around. Matthew had thrown his great coat on a chair. He had both his regular uniform tunic out as well as the blue hospital uniform tunic and red tie in a pile beside the chair. His muddy boots were next to the hearth. He was dressed only in his undershirt and hospital trousers. She had never been the presence of a man, even her father, so disrobed.

"I'm sorry." He finally noticed her discomfit. "Oh God, it seems rather shocking for you to have to find me _en déshabille_." He tried to hobble over to the chair to grab his tunic. His knee came out from under him. "Damn it." The cane he had been issued was on the far side of the divan.

"Do you need your stick?" Mary asked, boldly walking further into the room and towards the cane.

He saw her beautiful face against the amber flames of the fire. He gestured her instead over to him. "You are my stick." He responded seductively. He held out his hand for her to take. Just being in Mary's presence sent his mind and body into sensory overload. Her light scent. Her smile. The physical proximity to what had been only ghost images and dreams just hours before made him light headed.

Daring.

He was reminded of her question so long ago "are you a creature of duty?" A word that had taken on so many more layers of meaning to him as an officer at war, yet he would still give the same answer. He maintained his own beliefs. He was not entirely convinced that any set standard of conduct was any better than his own judgement. In war. In a drawing room full of aristocrats.

Or in a late night tryst with the woman he loved.

She walked over. Bolstered by his gesture. By his words. But as she took his hand she realized it trembled.

"I'm not entirely certain you should have come in here." He said.

"Why is that?" She asked.

He swallowed. "Because I'm not at all sure I want you to go."

She met his eyes. "Then I won't go."

"I think perhaps you should."

"Are you trying to push me away?" An attempt at an old private joke.

"I'm trying to protect you." His voice ragged, edgy. "I…. want you too much Mary. I'm not sure…. Not sure…"

"Then have me." Mary's lips met his own trembling ones. She maintained pressure on his lips until the trembling turned to intense concentration. He drew her to him closer and closer. His hands grasped her forearms. His mouth softened and his tongue ever so gently began to probe her willing mouth.

With all he had he released his grip. "Won't they be expecting you back?" The last of his resistance waning.

Mary stepped back and with her mind made up, took off her gloves. "No." Surprising herself with how certain she was this should happen. "I was expected to stay the night at Statler Hall. The meeting broke up early. I decided to walk home when I saw the light here." She paused, hearing only Matthew's shallow breathing.

Matthew broke at her next words.

She met his even gaze. "No one will be looking for me."

Matthew blinked rapidly. "We have all night?"

She nodded. "We should make the most of it."

He knew what he had to say. "I can't give you anything permanent, you know. I feel like Kipling's cat who must walk by himself, all places are alike to me. I want us to marry. I want it more than anything. But it's not fair to you…."

"Neither is this stupid war." Mary's anger at her life being once again on hold made her words embittered. "Nothing's permanent anymore. Everything's changed. You've changed. I've changed."

"I might not come back…." He was unrelenting in his vision of his future. She had to understand.

"But you will…" She had to believe that.

"You don't know that…" He insisted.

"I know I want this." She took his hand and placed it on her lips. "I want you."

His lips crashed into hers. "Mary. Mary…" His tongue, his mouth darting and nipping. All other words unnecessary. He felt her yielding body. He gave into it entirely.

Their lips still clasped together as his hands fumbled with her hat. The pins released, it tumbled to the floor.

His center of gravity tipped and he fell against her. "Sorry." He mumbled. "I don't think I can manage staying on my feet much longer." She helped him over to the collection of blankets nearest the fire hearth.

"This is cosy." She smiled as she joined him down on the floor. She had taken off her coat and now rested her head against his chest, his hair just visible at the collar of his undershirt. Matthew maneuvered her around so that her back was to him and he could more easily get at the buttons to her gown. His breath was jagged, uneven as his fingers nimbly undid each one. When released completely, his hands came around the inside of the gown and he felt the soft material of her chemise against his skin. Mary leaned in closer and his fingers touched the small, delicate peaks of her nipples.

He grasped and touched them with his fingers. His mouth making circular kisses along the nape of her neck. She tickled at each new sensation. She felt his touch, his love.

The dress came off and she was down to her chemise and underdrawers. "Now your turn." She said, with more confidence than she knew. And took his shirt off so that she could better see the chest and torso that had tantalized her earlier. He had a few scars from earlier battles and a few wounds still from the encounter with the German shell. They were covered with bandages.

She looked up at him with tearful eyes. He shrugged. "They're fine. Healing nicely the doctor said." The mood of intense yearning slightly broken, he wanted to recover it as soon as possible.

"Go over to my bag." He gestured with his right hand to a corner chair. Mary, slightly curious got up and did as bidded. Inside was a brown wrapped package.

"Open it." His words using that deep seductive pitch she found irresistible. She came back and sat down next to him on the blanket. Untied the string and the sides came away. A box from a silversmith and inside a silver brush and comb set.

"Oh Matthew." She took the brush out. Turned it over and fingered her initials within the center of an etched bouquet of flowers. They turned to each other and she kissed him.

Matthew went to work releasing her hair from its bondage atop her head. With a few released pins and a hair comb, it all came away in his hands. Tumbled down her shoulders and he shook it out some more with his own fingers.

"I've always wanted to see your hair down." Such intimate knowledge usually kept only to the marital bedroom. They were breaking all the rules this night.

This night that they were to make all their own.

XX

**And I'll be continuing that night in the next chapter... :)**


	8. Chapter 8: An Interlude of Passion

_An interlude of passion….this chapter is rated M! _

XX

Mary stirred. He was no longer beside her. His arm no longer draped over her shoulder. Protective of her and yet protecting himself as well. From the demons that haunted him. From the ravages of war she saw on his body, in his eyes.

She was his armour. He had told her that. Confessed it really. After they had made love.

When they were snuggled against each other, the time following the consummation. Of their bodies. Of their love.

What an odd word, Mary thought. Consummation. To complete an act. Yet the word could also mean to devour. Her childhood Latin came back to her. To take up. To be consumed.

She had given herself to him. He had done the same. They consumed each other.

His hands had been gentle, tender, and then insistent. Her own hands steadier than she would have imagined.

After he had finished brushing her hair and she lain against his torso, Mary felt his heart move from a steady, rhythmic beat to one that sounded as if it was about to come out of his chest. She realized then her fingers had started to stroke the hairs on his chest. To curl them within her digits and tickle her fingertips across his nipples. The hair raised and his skin turned to goose bumps. He threw his head back and let out a slow, burning moan of delight.

"Oh Mary." His voice deeper than she had ever heard it. His fingers eased up the hem of her chemise so he could see the white flesh of her thigh. Removing himself from her side, he bent down to kiss it. Moving the chemise higher and higher his kisses roamed across her thighs, her hips, her naval. He moved his slick tongue in and out of her bellybutton and then across her pelvis. His fingers hesitated to remove her drawers.

She nudged him to continue. Her own fired up body needed more. More from him. Her body trembled with the need to him to continue. His thumb brushed the lacy edge of the garment. With a moan so preciously fierce in the need for him to continue his actions, he removed her drawers in one swift move.

Their bodies stiffened in reaction. Hers arched against his and another fierce moan escaped her lips. His own plunged him on to taste her with his lips, his tongue. Waves of pleasure wracked her body. Her fingertips made scratch marks on his back as she gripped it to maintain a sense of control as her body no longer was her own. It was his. To do with what he wanted. His tongue was lapping the opening between her inner thighs. He stroked it softly at first, tasting it. Tasting her. Never would he have imagined this night to have such delights. Her gasps for breath made him bold. Made him do things he never thought he dared with Mary. Her slick heat drove him on.

They were out of their minds for each other.

When he felt her body arch again, this time wildly and bucking with his every lap, his every stroke he knew pleasure like at no other time in his life. He moved away from her, shifting so that he could have the space to remove his own trousers, the arousal in his groin painful and bulging, pleasure mixed with pain that needed to be released. He grunted in dissatisfaction as he could not undo the buttons of the trousers. A low spoken "fuck" expelled from his lips as he tried to undo the fasteners with one hand. His other still underneath Mary.

"Let me do that." He turned his head and her ragged command. Her mouth dry from the moans of pleasure his mouth had bestowed on her body. She moved so her legs were temporarily curled at her side as she sat up so that she had both hands free. Her eyes widened as she took in the bulge that was obvious through his blue hopsital trousers. He trembled at her touch. His moan a sound of pain and pleasure. She stroked the outline of his member and elicited a shout of devastating rapture. His breaths were now coming in shallow and ragged as he closed his eyes and gave himself over to her touch.

He was beautiful to look at. Her eyes took in his blond locks, tumbling down from his head and half hiding his eyes. His mouth open, his tongue licking his lips. He opened his eyes briefly to take in her gaze.

The hunger, the desire she saw in the darkened recesses of his pupils pushed her to further activity.

The buttons came free and she took off the trousers and his undershorts. Seeing him in his naked flesh, the hair of his chest now trailing down to his member, engorged and purplish red from her touch, made her own mind, her own body pulsate. She could never have imagined the raw, almost frightenly animalistic instinct that over took her. She needed him. Needed it as life itself.

He grunted in the exertion to move atop her body. His leg trembled and he ignored the pain. It threatened to come out from under him but he got the limb under control and used his arm strength to stay in place.

"Can you…?" The question barely begun on her lips when his growled, half-agonized comeback of "I can … I can" stopped her. She could feel his slick, sweaty flesh against hers. He leaned down to ease some of the tension in his arms and began a slow, tormenting examination of her breasts. Her chemise had been pulled all the way up and he took in the sight of her erect nipples that he had earlier felt with his fingertips. The flesh was soft, giving and pleasurable. His mouth began to taste each one. Nipping and tucking his tongue in and around the nipple. Sucking it and lapping around the peak. Her body trembled beneath and she muttered moans that drove him to lavish even more pressure, more attention on each peaked and aroused nipple. His tongue dipped between her cleavage and he moved between both in swift motions. His teeth gently tugging, biting as the action increased the volume of her enraptured whimpers of delight.

Matthew shifted slightly down to allow her arms to encircle his shoulders. Her hot flesh met his own. Her nails dug once again into his skin as his hips moved atop her inner thighs. The pulsing need of his own arousal had to be sated. He moved to enter her, slowly at first then as her hands lowered against his damp backside down to his clenched, tight rear end and pushed him against her, he plunged in hearing her cry out.

His thrusts were deep, focused. They clung to each other. Her hands against his backside driving him in further. But then his arms gave way as his leg came out from under him.

The pressure on the limb to great, his body slammed against hers. Quickly he tried to recover but it was no good. The breath left her body as his weight came down onto her abdomen.

"Damn" He spoke harshly even as his recovered and his arms once again held the weight of his body above hers. But he had to exit, without fulfilling the pleasure he so wanted to give her.

Their eyes met. "What should we do?" She, barely coherent after her mind had gone blank from the pleasure his stroking and thrusting had elicited from her body. He gave it a quick consideration and came to only one conclusion.

"You're going to have to get on top." He said. A frown creased across her brow. She didn't know what to do…. "I'll help you." His voice, deep and reassuring. She nodded. They had to finish. Her body, aching from unsated desire demanded it.

His hand gripped her shoulder and in one motion he flipped her atop him while he eased himself underneath her slick, sweat stained beautifully shaped body.

She gasped as he moved his hard shaft against her entrance. Her body stiffened and instinct took over. Her hands gripped his shoulders and she sunk his stiff member into her willing flesh, deeper and deeper until it filled her up. Their bodies drove against each other. He jerked upwards as he felt her climax nearing its peak. Her mouth came down onto his, she bit his skin as her teeth gnashed against his tongue, his lips. Her hungry need being fed by his thrusts and the touch of his member against her most intense spot of pleasure.

Her climax plunged her body into a state of intensity, wave upon wave of pleasure wracked her body. Nothing, she believed at that moment, would ever feel so good. When it finally diminished, she fell against his chest, feeling his body rise and fall in heaving breaths and his own intense spasms reached climax within her body.

His arms moved across her slick back. They embraced and stayed so until the shuddering, intense surges of blood and breath subsided. He released her and moved so that they were side by side.

Mary's chemise had gathered once again up around her shoulders and neckline. He gently pushed it back down so that it covered her body. The heat of their passion had been quickly replaced in the December cold and she shivered. "Thank you." She said as she moved to curl up against his chest.

He had only the words of his soul. "I love you Mary. You're my strength. I will love you until every breath leaves my body."

She buried her head deeper into his skin. She felt his heart beat against her ear. The heard its rhythmic thump. The pulse of life. "Me too, Matthew. Me too."

XX

They had fallen asleep. At least she had until a shout and a gripping of her shoulder awakened her. She stirred against Matthew who was obviously dreaming. His eyes flashing back and forth underneath his closed eyelids frightened her. She did not know whether to wake him up from this nightmare or allow it to take its course. He shouted names of men she did not know. And then it was over. And he seemed to sleep again.

So she covered them both up with one of the blankets he had removed from the cupboards where they had been stored and in the warmth and the darkness of the night, she slept.

But once again Mary stirred. A sound reached her ears. A rhythmic, scratching sound. She sat up to find that Matthew had gone. Left her side, his blankets rumpled and cold. He had been gone for some time.

In her groggy state Mary's mind was unfocused. She pushed her fingers against her temple and tried to figure out what was happening. She got up, her chemise now becoming her nightgown as she had no other garment to put on. Followed the scratching sounds through to the kitchen and to the door of a smaller room in between the kitchen and the outside door. A kind of mud room where garden tools, boots, and equipment were stored. A chair against the wall. A lantern shafting light onto the person in the chair.

Matthew sat in intense concentration upon a boot. Its mate already cleaned and polished sat on the floor next to his bare foot. He had dressed once again into his hospital trousers and undershirt, but his feet were unshod. Mary stood on the other side of the glassed door and just watched him. His mouth gripped a cigarette tight, little puffs of smoke released through gritted teeth making an eerie halo around his head. His hands worked the rag around and around the boot in concentric circles, only stopping to dip it into the polish and return to his exertions. His actions bordered on the obsessive, but Mary again left him to best deal with his own demons.

Mary returned to the morning room. A glance at the clock showed her it was 3am. The cold light of day soon upon them. The soreness of her body, of her thighs and hips a visceral memory of their passion of the night before. She sunk back down into the warmth of the blankets. Matthew had stirred and fixed the fire and it blazed once again giving off waves of welcoming heat.

She slept. When the light of the sun reached her eyes several hours later, the pressure of Matthew's body against hers meant that he too slept. Their bodies spooned against each other. He had moved as close as he could against her. His arms embraced her the curvature of her waist and down across her torso. He was sleeping soundly. His breath rhythmic and peaceful. She did not want to disturb him. So she reveled in the sensations of just being near him elicited from her body. She wanted to remember all of this night. For when he left to return to France, when she was once again alone and scared for his life, she would close her eyes and return to this moment.

Nothing would ever disturb the love they felt this night.

Matthew's eyes fluttered open. His mouth sticky and dry. He closed them again. Opened them back up. He remembered everything. Mary's flesh. Her thighs. Her moans of pleasure. His hands and mouth on her breasts. He also remembered getting up to fix the fire and, unable to sleep, found the task of polishing the boots soothing and mind numbing enough to return him to slumber.

He sat up, a smile dancing across his lips. She was so very beautiful. The hair, so carefully brushed the night before, was a tangle around her head. A memory of their exertions. He kissed her cheek.

She woke up to his kiss. "Good morning."

Mary sat up straight. The fears of reprisals filling her mind now.

What had they done?

"What time is it?" Her face turned to the clock. "Oh God Matthew it's going on for 10:00. They'll be sending out search parties." Her voice took on a wild quality.

"Hush." He said. "I've figured it out. We'll just say that on your way back from …. " His mind couldn't place the woman's name …"from wherever you were you saw me outside Crawley House getting ready to come over to the big house. We'll walk back together after we have some tea. That is if I can get that damned stove lighted."

He looked sheepish. "Sorry. Swearing has become a bit of a habit in France."

She smiled. "I know. I hear the soldiers recuperating do it all the time." So much had changed, he remembered. The house had become a hospital. They had all become less innocent.

"Are you ready to face them all now?" She asked. Knowing that he had holed up at Crawley House unable to see anyone.

He nodded. "I will if you're with me." He was not really sure that was the truth, but it would have to be done. Mary needed an excuse for her tardiness.

"You will also need to be cleaned up." Mary said with a rueful grin. "You look a fright."

"Then I definitely need to get a fire lit on that stove. Shaving in cold water is a no go except in France. I want it hot and steaming." He looked playfully up at her over his eyelids. "And I think I'll need some help with it." Standing and shaving in that tiny mirror upstairs in his own bathroom was too much for his leg. He would have to lean against the sink to see to shave. He'd probably cut his carotid artery.

"You want me to shave you?" Mary asked. Matthew was seated on the settee, his bad leg thrust out in front of him.

He held out his hand and when she drew near, he sat her down on his good leg. She curled up against his neck. She could feel the scruffiness. His stubble definitely needed shaving. She had felt the delights of that rough texture against her skin the night before. The memory it stirred made her body shiver in a shaft of desire.

"I can't very well show up at Downton, unshaven. What would they think?" He said teasingly, but they both knew the truth of it.

They had broken all the conventions. The war had made them bold. Made them perhaps reckless.

But it had seemed so right.

"I need to look my best." He said. "How am I otherwise to ask Robert for your hand in marriage?" His eyes shone and his mouth danced out the words.

Mary gasped in astonishment. Their lips met. It was going to be quite the afternoon.

Their actions so irresponsible. And it had sealed their fate.

XX

_Tbc_

_So please, please review. The story will pick up with their morning ablutions (i.e. shaving) and then plunge into the events that will spin the story out to the middle, much more angsty part of this fan fic. We might be in for a bit of a bumpy ride…. __ I do intend now to spend some time writing Three Strikes—my modern story so look forward to new chapters perhaps by next week end! I do love reading all your comments. _


	9. Chapter 9: The Return to Downton

_The events of an evening and into the next day… this chapter refers to events of the previous chapter... so kinda rated M... but not really_

XX

"Mary…" Matthew's urgent call reached across the kitchen and into the sitting room. She had been folding up the assorted blankets and covers Matthew had tossed on the floor the previous evening to create a makeshift bed. Another thing the war had changed. Before the war she would never have bothered as the army of servants would clean so that she hardly put a thought to it.

But she did not want Mrs. Bird or Matthew's mother returning home to find a messy sitting room. It had to look as if they were not even there. Neither wanted to answer any questions.

Especially given what happened.

She was still a bit in shock over their activities of the night. Their love making had been unexpected but natural. Neither had felt any shame or disgrace in the act. She thought she would feel different. Be made different by the experience.

Instead she felt whole. They had found their own refuge from the war. From all the changes. It had helped to heal Matthew's wounded soul. And her fears. They were, forever more, bound together.

Yet…

They could never speak of it to anyone. They had mutually agreed to that during the early morning hours. Matthew would pretend he arrived two days later. They then invented a plausible story that they met by accident on the way from the train station and walked together to Downton. Matthew would take Robert aside and formally ask for Mary's hand in marriage.

The excitement of the afternoon assuaged some of her morning nerves. She tried to concentrate on the task at hand. Unfortunately she had no idea where the blankets belonged. Once folded, she was investigating the cupboards in the hall closet when she heard Matthew call her name.

"What is it?" She popped her head around the corner and into the kitchen. Matthew was sitting in a straight back chair, his bad leg akimbo as he shoveled a layer of coal into a lower chamber of the oven. He had arranged some kindling below it. A pile of crumpled paper and wood shards. It had taken several attempts but now he needed only to light the paper and let it enflame the coal.

He turned, finally satisfied with his effort. "Can you please go to my great coat?" He pointed towards the sitting room. "It's on the chair."

She smiled. "Of course." But then looked concerned. "Are you cold?" She knew from being at Downton with the nurses and doctors that chills could mean an infection had set in the wounded leg. She moved into the room and fetched his heavy khaki coat.

He looked sheepish at her question. "No." He accepted the coat and rummaged through the pockets until he found what he needed. "I just needed my lighter." He held it up in his fingers. "I know you hate my smoking."

She gave a small pout of distaste. "It seems a filthy custom." At his guilty chortle, she continued. "I know papa loves his after dinner cigars, but I'm more than happy to leave him to them alone as we retire to the music room."

He tried to make her understand. "Smoking is a much an act of comraderie as anything else. When I first arrived at the officer's mess it was clear to most of them that I was not to the manor born."

"But that's ridiculous. You're the heir presumptive to an earldom." Mary kneeled down next to the bench where he sat. She placed her hands on his knees. He had put on his uniform breeches rather than the hospital trousers. He intended to kit out in his full parade tunic with Sam Browne belt and polished boots as well.

He took her hand and kissed it. "It's true. They knew that of course. But they also knew I was the middle class son of a doctor who, until your cousin so unfortunately died, spent his life in a dreary solicitor's office in Manchester." He said the name of his hometown derisively attempting to imitate their snide attempt at a Mancunian accent.

Mary felt a pang of guilt as she to had made fun of him earlier in their life. How he couldn't hold a knife like a gentleman. That he worked in a dusty office.

She thought so different now.

He grimaced as a shaft of pain intensified as he shifted back towards the stove. "I can wear the best quality Barathea wool uniform your father recommended I had tailored at his London outfitters, but they never let me forget what was underneath. It wasn't as bad as some of the others got. Your father was right. Clothes make the man. Some of the other New Army volunteers were held up to mess hall ridicule far worse than I. They would create mock inspections, remind them of their betters." The utter useless ridiculousness of it all struck Matthew as particularly ironic. After all, he grimly told himself, their uniforms all got dirty the same way. And they all ended up fucking dying together in the mud anyway.

His angry musing was broken by Mary.

"So smoking helped?" She still looked confused.

"It helped to break the ice." He tried to explain. The importance of getting along meant survival. "You join in. Create bonds that will see you …." He paused. How much to tell her? He wasn't supposed to say anything. "You through some very bad times." A shade of darkness passed over his face. All those bodies. Some without limbs, without faces. Because the shells had blown them off. Others caught on the barbed wire, no one risking death to go retrieve them.

He shook his head. "It also helps stop the boredom. And can relieve some of the tension as you wait." His terse tone meant not to ask for further detail. He looked into Mary's eyes. "Does that help?"

She replied with a shivered sigh. She also had her duty to perform. Accepting things she could not quite yet grasp. He was becoming a different person. Would he return to her whole? The same? Truly made different by his war experiences.

"Yes. But you must promise me to give them up once peace is restored."

He smiled. "Agreed." But he added. "Although I won't hold you to it. I've known several wives of regimental officers who have taken up smoking and now can't live without it. It's simply deevie…" And he imitated the high pitched titter that usually accompanied the exclamation. He did not mention the beautiful VAD nurse at the aide station who had knelt beside his stretcher and placed a smoke in his mouth as he arrived to have his leg treated. But he must have looked a bit guilty as Mary gave him a decided side-eye and the driest…. "Really?"

He returned it with the most innocent of looks. "Oh absolutely. They have these long slim cigarette holders that they hold cocked at an angle. It's very… uh…" He gave her a hungry look. "Uh…"

"Yes…?" She inclined down closer to his face, daring him to continue. "You've noticed this up close have you…" A tantalizing but searching quiver to her lips.

"Erm…" He admired the slender arch of her neckline, "Provocative." He swallowed. "But some of the more militant call them 'torches of freedom.' As a … a call for more equality for women. Like the suffragettes." He tried to save the situation.

She stood up with a withering, dismissive sniff. "I don't need to smoke to be equal to men. We need to be allowed out of the waiting rooms they place us in. Once that happens anything is possible."

"You've become quite the advocate." Matthew mused. "Sybil's rebellion has rubbed off on you."

"War changes things." Mary leaned back down, kissing his cheek. "I think we all must change with it. I don't intend to be left behind."

"Then I'll have to watch out." Matthew's voice lowered, his arousal level back up.

"Perhaps you should." Mary murmured back. "I'm desperate for a cup of tea. Should I take over?"

"All right. I get the hint. Back to this monstrous instrument of torture." He grunted as he swung the bad leg around. He took the lighter, flicked the flame, and lit the tinder. It caught and he let out a victorious cry.

"It will take a few minutes to warm up the stove top. Then we get to heat some water and get things underway." He blew on the flames to encourage the fire.

Mary set out instruments from Matthew's toilette kit. Razors. Tins of shaving cream, a lathering brush. Some of the straight razors were rusty. She selected one that appeared sharp. She said, "Lean back." And he did so with "Now be careful with those." He teased, in a commanding tone. "I need to my look my best."

Her fingers brushed his upper lip. She started under his nose, when Matthew cleared his throat and said in a mock clipped military tone, "Uniform regulation command number 1695 stipulates 'the hair of the head will be kept short. The chin and the under-lip will be shaved, but _not_ the upper lip…'" He gave an amused grin. "Good thing it's not generally enforced. At least not in my regiment."

Mary gave his face a critical look. "I don't know… I might like kissing a man that tickled my lips with a mustache." Into his ear, seductive and cool.

Matthew swallowed hard. Turned his own lips towards hers. "…oh. Maybe I should then." His eyes blinked, those cerulean blues that made her weak at the knees. She scrunched her face and tried to be serious, but she couldn't. He looked too handsome for words. So instead she rejoined, "No. You stay just the way you are."

XX

They approached the house.

"Maybe I should just slip in the garden door. Or behind the back and then I can take the servants stairs to my room." Mary bit her lip in a sudden burst of nervousness.

"No." Matthew grasped her hand with his gloved one. "We've got our story straight. It will be fine." And he glanced up the drive towards the Abbey. "Besides" he forced his eyes to squint through the mid-afternoon glare "I think the family has company." And with his other hand he pointed to Thomas and William retrieving luggage from the boot of several cars. "We might be in luck."

Mary said, "We were not expecting anyone." And she quickened her step. "Let's find out who they are." They drew near and Mary recognized Rosamund talking to her brother.

Matthew lagged a little behind, struggling with his cane in the pebbled lane. He shrugged and heaved his bag more firmly onto his shoulder. Upon recognition he grunted in dissatisfaction. "What's she doing here? Does that woman have nothing better to do than just follow us around?" Thinking he had said it in a muted undertone.

Mary heard it however. "Be nice." She had not seen her aunt since a few months previous. They had made another week end visit to Cliveden where once again Mary was forced into the company of the men Rosamund considered more suitable. Mary tried to remember that her aunt meant well.

Matthew looked up from under his cap's visor. "I'll do my best. But I make no promises." But he gave her a smile. "Let's get on."

And as soon as Robert and Rosamund heard the footfalls on the gravel drive, they broke conversation and looked on the new visitors.

"Matthew, my dear boy." Robert could not have sounded more pleased. "Our hero returns." Matthew for the first time had put on the silver cross with straight arms, Royal Cypher in centre. The Military Cross had been only first awarded in February 1915 so he was a still early recipient and Robert could not have been more pleased.

Rosamund looked on with more suspicion. "The two of you are out quite early."

Matthew spoke first. "I arrived on the morning train to see Mother. But it turned out she wasn't there. So I decided to walk over. It takes me awhile to get anywhere…" and he held up the cane as evidence. "So as I was hobbling along the road, Mary spotted me. We walked together."

They stood awkwardly apart. Hoping everyone bought their not so well crafted lie.

Mary turned to her aunt. "How nice to see you." Mary steered the conversation back to Rosamund. "I didn't know you were visiting. I would not have gone to that dreadful meeting at Lady Statler's if I had known." The lie working so far.

Rosamund accepted Mary's outstretched arm. "I came with someone who wanted to meet with Colonel Payton. Your father is hosting a small gathering of commanders from his old regiment." She pointed to several of the pieces of luggage still on the drive. "You know him, Mary. Richard Carlisle."

Mary could not believe her aunt's audacity. She was practically pushing her into that man's arms. But her attention was taken away by Matthew's audible sigh of resignation. What had she led him into? If he had stayed at his mother's house, he would not have to endure this evening of inevitable war talk. And to meet the man who hoped to be his rival for Mary's hand.

She knit her brow in concentration. Bluff it out was the only solution. "How interesting." She managed to get out.

Matthew' clouded look was now also looking confused. "Who?" he mouthed to her silently. She shook her head imperceptibly and with a look that said she'd explain later.

Robert took Matthew in hand. "Let the women take care of these things. Come with me and tell me about this leg, eh?" And without allowing Matthew to say anything in protest, he led the younger man into the house.

Mary watched them go in. Well, she thought, at least they got away with no one finding out.

Rosamund's tone was sharp. "Mary what are we going to do with you? Richard Carlisle is a very busy man. He took time out of his schedule to come with me. Are you going to waste this opportunity by continuing to moon after a man who clearly made up his mind to join the army rather than be with you?"

Mary's eyes flashed in anger. "Really Aunt Rosamund you are impossible. I didn't ask that man to visit."

"To be honest, he spent the entire journey reading his own papers. But I'm sure we'll all love him dearly if he should become a member of the family." Rosamund started towards the house.

Mary audibly gasped a weary tone.

"He's here now. Let's make the most of it." And without another word she guided Mary past Thomas and into Downton. "I'll help you dress this evening to show off your assets to best effect."

And she did. Selecting for Mary a red beaded gown with pearl inlay. Low cut but still modest. Sleeveless that Mary wore with elbow length gloves. She crowned the outfit with one of the new fashionable headbands. What Mary did not tell her aunt, who was ever so pleased with the choice, was that it was also Matthew's favorite dress. Indeed the very one she wore in the photograph she had made for him to carry in his billfold at the front.

But her entrance into the drawing room had the dramatic affect her aunt intended. All the men turned at Mary's entrance. Robert looking pleased his daughter made such an effort for his group of army men. Richard could not take his eyes off her. A prize indeed, he thought to himself. One he intended to have.

Matthew had wanted to openly stare. To memorize every swish of the gown, the way she played with her hair as if a surreptitious reminder to him of his brushing the night before.

But he dared not stare. It might draw too much attention. He had been frustrated most of the afternoon in getting Robert aside. All the other guests had begun to filter in. Some moving into the recreation center set up for the recuperative men. Others retreating to the more private billiards room Robert still kept separate. Matthew had tried several times to steer Robert to a private room, but someone always blocked his way. Or he was expected to join in to meet the men with Colonel Payton who wanted to hear all about his winning of the Military Cross.

All through dinner it was the same. Matthew gripped his silverware and gritted his teeth as he listened to story after story from Robert's guests.

And now in the drawing room after dinner, more war talk.

It was the last thing Matthew wanted. But he knew his duty. And so here he was, rather than walking over to Mary, he was retelling the incident of shooting the German soldiers. The one types like Payton wanted to hear. And inevitably Matthew heard the man's approving grunts as he finished. "Good man. Standing firm against the enemy. Cool under fire. What we're all trying to teach."

Matthew silently nodded. He had nothing else to say. His views of the war were so very different from these red tab staff officers who saw the war from behind a desk in London. They saw x's and o's on maps designating the front lines and movements of units of men. He saw blood. And smelt the fetid odor of the dead.

The dead that haunted them all at the front. The dead who were as much alive to them in their dreams as the living.

He did not say any of this. It was useless. The war went on and they were all 'ere to the end. The end, Matthew had already concluded for most was death. Death sung to the tune of Auld Lang Syne. Boys like the Germans he had shot. Or young Ivor Coles who had died that same day. All no longer 'ere.

But he was. And he kept his mouth shut. It was being the good soldier. But the alternative was simply another form of death. Being shot for cowardice. Or dereliction of duty. He had seen plenty of men hauled off for various punishments on such charges. Most were not cowards or rabble rousers. Most were just suffering the effect of war. Strung out along the lines like cannon fodder to be picked off by an unseen enemy. Or killed by your own regiment as an example of what happens to weaklings. Your choice.

So far Matthew chose his duty. To his men. To his regiment. He had very little time for red tabbers like Payton, but he knew they had their role to play as well.

And he also knew that for the near distant future, he was to be one of them. They would never allow him back to the front in his condition. He was to be temporarily assigned to rearguard staff duty at the still being built British GHQ in Montreuil-Sur-Mer along the French channel coast. They were to formally move GHQ from St Omer in a month or two, but Matthew would be in either location given whatever duties he was to attend.

He was already dreading it. Moving and shifting markers on maps, drawings on chalkboards, endless statistics to be accounted. Decisions on his own men's life and deaths and he not actually present to engage the enemy alongside them.

Matthew had received his orders while in hospital. A few days leave to see his mother and then off to the French channel coast. And his few days were up. He had informed Mary on their walk to Downton that this was his last night in York. His last chance to see his mother. To see Mary. Their night together would have to sustain him through the long days of the bleak mid-winter. Checking his watch he knew he had only a few more hours. He could not stay much longer. He had to leave on the 11:00 train back to London to catch the organized transport. He had already informed Carson and they had made arrangements for Branson to be ready with the car.

And the last thing he wanted to do in his remaining few hours was to listen to war talk and propaganda. Who was this Carlisle anyway? His tone of voice clearly middle class, yet his title bespoke some success in life. The way he sidled up to Mary made Matthew distinctly uncomfortable. She kept glancing over at Matthew but neither wanted to draw attention to themselves. And Matthew was not at all sure he could keep his hand away from the enticing curve of her waistline.

She wore his favorite dress. Did she do that just for him? He absorbed every detail, every movement. Just like he had done the night before. He could hardly believe it. Had it all been a dream? But no, his body responded to readily to the memory of the weight of her atop his. His mouth went dry with the vision of how they had made love. Her lips devouring his own. Slipping inside her, joining with her in the shuddering delight of peaked climax.

He had to get Robert alone! But it was impossible. Robert was surrounded by a group of old war comrades from the Mafeking campaign. And they were each regaling the other with the kind of tales that old men indulged in. The kind that grew grander and larger than life with every year.

And Mary was distracted as well. Her aunt keeping her as far away from Matthew as possible. They were now chatting with several of the wives of Robert's old friends. Mary looked anxious and bored to tears all at the same time. She was relieved when the Dowager Countess rescued her and took her aside.

But was dismayed to learn that the pretense of interest in Richard Carlisle was actually working. Violet leaned towards Mary. "You be careful, Mary."

Mary's face betrayed her confusion.

"You've been staring at him since you walked in." Violet retorted. "Sir Richard mustn't think you're after him."

"What?" Mary cried.

"Isn't that the truth?" Sybil had inserted herself into the conversation. Having been pulled away from the hospital wing she was attending under protest. "Mary's after the main chance. He's a very powerful man."

"The truth is neither here nor there. It's the look of the thing that matters." Violet concluded.

Mary was completely nonplused.

Richard walked over to Matthew. "Hello. I don't think we've been introduced." Bluntly, his voice brusque, as if sizing Matthew up.

No, Matthew thought darkly, and really isn't it Rosamund or Mary who should be doing these introductions? But he held out his hand anyway. "Sir Richard."

"Captain Crawley, I see you're wearing a MC?" Richard started in. "For conspicuous gallantry is it not?"

God, Matthew mentally despaired, not him as well. He would not give the man satisfaction. If he wanted some heroic tale for his newspapers, he'd have to find someone else.

"Others were far braver than I." And Matthew brushed it off with changing the subject. "Robert tells me you're in newspapers?"

"Well, I own a few." He replied.

Matthew's barely suppressed snort of censure did not go unnoticed. "You disapprove of newspapers Captain?"

"Not if they printed the truth." Matthew said between gritted teeth. He had to watch himself. Don't get drawn into any discussion of the government using newspapers for propaganda purposes.

"My responsibility is to investors. As long as readership is up, I try to print what the public demands."

"Keeping their spirits up is all well and good..." But thankfully Mary approached before Matthew could begin the tirade against those that censored the reality of the killing fields of France.

"So now you've met Cousin Matthew. You do both have very strong opinions." And she stood between the two men before they came to verbal blows.

"Mary is always trying to help me learn how to do things properly." Richard said. "In polite conversation one never discusses politics or religion, is that right? But if I choose to talk money or war, that's just my way."

Mary tried to smile, but it was artificial at best. She was getting a headache at the attempt to keep up this ruse.

"I always like to shock her with my bold and modern values." Richard's smooth Scottish burr coming to the fore.

Matthew's barely suppressed guffaw had him almost spill his drink at the man's vanity.

"Oh, Sir Richard," Mary had him well in hand again, "It takes a good deal more than that to shock me." And she gave Matthew an emboldened look, a glance that harked back him clearly of their night of passion. Matthew's playful smirk was her private reward.

Mary guided Richard back towards her father and Rosamund. Just in time to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Robert's tone was questioning. "What do you make of our guest?"

Rosamund's expected reply did not surprise Mary. "He's an opportunity. Mary needs a position, and preferably a powerful one. He can provide it."

"You don't think she'd be happier with a more traditional set up?" He still held out hope that Mary and Matthew would finally agree to an engagement. They obviously were getting along better than ever having seen them walk together just that afternoon from the train station.

Rosamund, however, was blunt. "Will she have the option?"

Mary was livid. As if she was some kind of commodity. As if Matthew was already under a death sentence.

But she had no choice but to playact. At least until Matthew got Robert aside.

She recoiled in despair when Carson approached Matthew and whispered something in his ear. She knew the butler was telling him that Branson was waiting with the car.

He looked over at her. He had to go. One more good-bye. In front of the family. Another delay in their engagement. This was becoming something of a folly.

Robert approached him. So she would not even have the chance of a private good bye. She walked over.

"I've got to catch the eleven o'clock train I've been telling Robert." He said, a bit too formally perhaps, to Mary. But he was at such loose ends he didn't know what else to say.

"And then you'll be in France?" Her lip quivered slightly.

"Wherever I'm going, I'm very pleased that we got to see each other again. Even if it was brief."

Mary smiles. Matthew started to walk out to Carson who has his service cap and coat in hand.

Robert strode out with them. "Be safe." They shake hands.

Matthew shifts on his good leg and leans down on the cane to steady himself. He turned to Mary. He had to say something even if it was in front of everyone.

"Don't worry. I intend to get through this war in one piece." He leaned in slightly towards Mary for a modicum of privacy. "We'll have plenty of opportunities to tell everyone."

Mary's nod is the best she can muster. Her mother was already calling her back in to help Granny organize a card game. Branson waited at the door to take him.

Matthew left with only one more glance back.

Branson thought he heard the Captain mutter under his breath "… plenty of opportunities." But the tone was not one of hope. But of utter resignation.

XX

_A lot is going to happen in these next few chapters that will upend all the hopes of Mary and Matthew and take their lives in very different directions. I hope you'll take this journey with me. Please review this story! I know Three Strikes and my new story (what am I thinking?) A Stitch in Downton Time need updating as well… but this story is very close to my heart. I've been thinking about this story for upwards of two years. I really need to know you're all in this with me in order to keep going with this plot. Please trust me! I love and respect you all._

_And no... I don't condone smoking. But it was very common among Great War soldiers so I'm just reflecting the knowledge of the times._


	10. Chapter 10: Consequences

_This is the chapter where it all goes awry… _

**XX**

Feb 1916

Mary walked the short distance outside the tea shoppe. She was feeling nauseous again. And faint. The bitter February wind made her wince.

And to make matters worse she noticed Richard Carlisle striding towards her. Her shoulders sagged. He always tested the limits of her patience. She didn't dislike him exactly, but found his attentions bordering on the possessive. And she was in no mood to deal with it.

Matthew had returned to France in December. His letters scattered in part due to his being extra busy at GHQ as a staff officer, adjusting to the new surroundings as well as the paperwork which he complained of in his letter of mid-January. The only one she received. She knew he had sent a separate letter to her father about the possibility of a betrothal as he indicated such but it had not arrived in the same post as hers. Subject to censorship as well as issue of him being posted first to Paris then Boulogne before finally settling in Montreuil sur Mer meant the mail got mixed up.

It was frustrating but nothing could be done. They were apart anyway. With no indication he would get leave again for quite awhile.

Mary decided, restless at Downton, to visit Rosamund in London. The click of heels on the cobbled pavement usually cheered her up. But this visit was melancholy at best.

After taking tea she was to go to the Royal Academy to view a new exhibit, but outside she felt dizzy. She put her hand up to her head.

"Lady Mary?" Richard asked cautiously approaching her. "May I be of assistance?"

And to his utter astonishment, she turned ashen faced towards him, moaned, and fainted dead away as his arms reached out to capture her from the fall to the hard pavement.

London Hospital was nearby. He carried her into the lobby. Calling out to the first nurse he saw, he shouted "Lady Carlisle needs assistance here. Please get a doctor."

XX

**March 1916**

Matthew stood at the seashore. Dipped his left boot in the salted water. The crunching sounds of their feet on the long stretch of sand made a pleasant noise. The blues and greys of the water. The lights dancing off the low waves. It was overpowering. So bright. So outrageously beautiful he had trouble processing it all.

His life's palette of colors was singly muted to muddy browns and pasty whites. Even the shocking red of blood gave up and oxidized to rust. The decay of death surrounded him. The rats ate the remains of those left rotting in the hell of no man's land. The stink he hardly noticed anymore. His senses had dulled as a result. And thankfully so. It was, Matthew learned the hard way, a survival mechanism the human mind was endowed with.

His mind was a whirl of here and what was to come.

For he was too finally to return to it all. He got the go ahead in a few days ago. Declared fit for duty and being posted back to the line. Back to his division and his men. Mason would be happy as he had been left behind with the Duke of Manchester's Own. They would not temporarily assign him to GHQ along with Captain Crawley.

Matthew knew why he was finally being sent back.

The French, exhausted defending the ancient fortified city of Verdun, needed help. The Chinese whispers at GHQ rumoured a joint Franco-British offensive at the nearby Somme River to cause an attrition of German men and material and help out the relief of Verdun. He had seen some of the planning at GHQ. General Haig planned a large artillery bombardment first to bring the Germans to their knees. The French CiC Joffre demanded the offensive be brought forward by a month. So it was planned for 1 July 1916.

He'd be there for the fighting. He was at peace with the order. This was his last week-end as a red tab. He could fling them off and return to front line duty. No longer sending other men over the top from a safe distance. Sending them to whatever fate had in store for them. To their deaths, most probably.

But he was also terrified. Not just of the risk of death or injury, but that he'd get more of his men killed because he'd lost his edge. His abilities. His main job as he now saw it was to make sure the men under his command–as much as possible—remained alive. One of the worst things possible was the gut fear you made the wrong decision. It paralyzed you. The men saw it in your eyes and in that instant you lost their respect.

Today, though, today was all about getting away from the war. They had made a pact. No war talk. The day they had planned for weeks. The motor had been requisitioned and fueled. Margaret had prepared a picnic. Matthew's reposting was the reason for the outing. To the seaside. The weather was actually cooperating. No fog. No rain. Even a bit of heat. Humid to be sure but a strong sea breeze counteracted it. The Cottin Descouttes, a French racing car requisitioned for war work, drove like a dream. Normally utilized by the higher ups like Haig or Robertson, Matthew got it for the day as the Easter holiday was upcoming and a kind of truce was on.

The drive, the day out with Margaret Heyton was a tonic to his troubled soul. She had said would do him a world of good. And she had been right. Ironically despite the name of the town Montreuil-sur-Mer was not near the sea. It had retreated over 200 years previous, leaving the town high and dry. They had to drive 13K to the coast at Le Touquet. To get away. From the war. From reality. They had already spent previous afternoon offs or Sundays walking and exploring the old fortifications in and around town. Despite the curfews in place, the checkpoints, and the blackouts the time away was well spent.

Now that they were well out of town, Matthew took off his great coat and opened his tunic. It was wonderful. He wanted to feel the humid heat on his skin. To remove the pallor of ghostly white. They intended to get back by day's end but that was still several hours away.

They got out of the car as soon as the ocean came into their view. The walk across the dune did not hurt his injured leg which was a good sign. It had finally healed as much as it was going to. It still gave him sharp pain and twinges of irritation. But he could walk. And run. And shoot. And that was enough for the medical men.

"Watch this…" Margaret said, skipping a stone out into the depths of the ocean. It managed eight or nine hops. "See if you can beat that." And she stood with her hands to her hips, the long flow of her skirt muddy from getting so close to the shoreline.

Matthew's mouth puckered in admiration. He was impressed with Margaret's technique. But he had spent large parts of his boyhood in just this endeavor. So he determined to beat her with at least ten skips of the stone.

He picked out a good sized smoothed one. Flat. Just the thing. She laughed at his close examination of the shoreline throwing and discarding one then the other. Matthew's eyes met hers. "It's all in the wrist. And the angle." And he proved it by jerking his wrist, throwing out his arm and making it bounce ten times.

He nodded in satisfaction.

"You were just lucky. The tide caught mine." She smirked playfully. She would never let him win.

She was so different from Mary. Yet the same. The same vibrant energy. The same opinionated arguments that had led them to debate the music of Verdi vs. Wagner, of the impressionists, and the merits of romantic poetry. Anything but the war. She had come to Montreuil as a translator from the British embassy in Paris. An expert in German and French she had proven to be exceptional. Civilian women were not sent into war zones. But GHQ was so far behind the lines that it was considered safe.

Her appearance at GHQ a few months previous had been a breath of life. A way to talk about home. About Mary to someone who understood. Simon had said his wife was a good listener and he was right. She spent hours with Matthew, allowing him to indulge in story after story about his life in Downton. About his hopes for the future. About how Mary's laugh reminded him of a summer's day.

They would wander around the ruins of the promenade des remparts or the Citadelle and talk.

He had reciprocated, listening as Margaret recounted stories of her childhood in the peaks and wilds of Derbyshire, her courtship with Simon, and the utter happiness of their marriage. The fact that were childless still their only sorrow, until the war that is. The war had started for Simon much earlier as he had been Regular Army upon the August declaration. The regulars had been wiped out almost to a man by December thus forcing the New Army of Matthew's time and now the Military Service Act forcing men from 18 to 41 to be called up.

One evening they had left a concert organized by some soldiers at Beaurepaire, the country house Haig had requisitioned for his personal headquarters a few kilometers outside the town. They were walking back along the lanes. He would drop her off at the hotel while he returned to the barracks.

"It was a miracle he's still alive." Margaret had said.

"It's a miracle any of us are." Matthew responded softly.

Today however, at the seaside, she had brought him here not to talk about the war. But because she noticed he had something on his mind. Not the war. Nor the return to his regiment. She knew those signs as they were similar to Simon's. A kind of twitchy nervous energy took over.

This was quite different.

Matthew had grown distant, lethargic. Apathetic.

And that was dangerous. When a soldier became indifferent to life, he soon caressed the peace of death.

So she brought him here for an explanation. To save his life. She was afraid.

Matthew had continued to do his duty. Write reports. Collect the statistics. Had agreed to her day out and was even beginning to enjoy himself.

But the look of despair still etched his handsome face.

She wanted to get to the reason for it. She set up the picnic items on the lee side of the car to protect them from the wind. Some sandwiches, a thermos of coffee, and assorted biscuits was all she could requisition from the mess but it was enough.

Matthew saw down on the edge of the blanket. Took a bite and said, "These are quite good." Another thing he'd not have in a few days. Fresh food. Back to rations.

Margaret acknowledged his gratitude. But then turned on him. "Well are you going to tell me?"

"What?" He knew what she meant but was being stubborn.

She let him think about it.

"I received a letter the other day. From Robert." His voice sad, his eyes confused. "It had been mis-delivered several times as the Army kept thinking I was still in Paris. It had gone back and forth and finally ended up in my hands. He posted it in late February. So now, by the time I got it, there was nothing I could do. It … " He choked and looked out to the ocean. "I could not do anything…. I …" He threw down his sandwich. "Not that there was anything that I could do. It was a done deal by then."

"You're not making much sense." Margaret said. "What happened? Is everyone alright?"

"Yes it seems everyone is fine." He said, practically spitting the words out. "Robert's letter was to inform me of Lady Mary's marriage to one Sir Richard Carlisle, a newspaperman of some repute."

He was greeted with Margaret's wide-eyed bewilderment. "I don't understand….I thought…"

Matthew cut her off brusquely. "And he also told me I was no longer welcome at Downton. Carlisle had informed him of certain unconscionable behaviors on my part that he would not deign to discuss again, but that made me unworthy of his daughter's attentions. That he no other recourse but to continue to accept me as heir, but that as of now, I was to act on my own devices until such time as the inheritance comes my way."

Margaret hardly knew what to say. Matthew was so dear to her now. She knew he was a private man and had not pried too much into the intimacies of his relationship with Mary. But this was beyond anything she could conceive.

He had spoken of Carlisle in jealous tones, to be sure. She recalled an earlier conversation that included Matthew's cutting comment that "Carlisle, probably because he's too old, was allowed to remain in England…safe" with a sneer "and able to visit with Mary at weekends at Cliveden." What had been left unsaid, but understood by both was that Matthew had volunteered to fight but now had to sit out months of the war pushing paper and sending other men to their deaths.

She looked over at Matthew and understood the depths of his recent funk. And felt helpless to comfort him.

He sat, the wind from the sea whipping his hair and getting in his eyes. He pushed it away angrily and got up. "I'm going to take a walk. I'm sorry I've ruined our day out."

"You haven't." Margaret pulled on his arm. "But I'm here. When you want to talk."

He kneeled down and looked her in the eyes. "I know why Robert has done this. It's all my fault."

Margaret replied, "I doubt that. What could you have possibly done to incur such a cold blooded response from a man who admires you so much? There must just be some mistake." She knew she was reaching for straws but after all Matthew had told her of Robert becoming a kind of second father to him, of how proud he was about the MC, and concerned for his safety it seemed impossible.

Matthew turned on her. "You have no idea." He spat the words out.

"Then tell me." She replied. "I'm all you have. And I'm afraid for you. You're going back to God knows what and your mind is elsewhere. That is not a good combination." She smoothed out the blanket and indicated him to sit down again.

Matthew sat down, head in his hands and curling his legs towards his body. Should he tell her? His thoughts ran scattered. He knew Mary would not disclose their secret rendezvous at Crawley House to her father. And certainly not to Carlisle. But somehow he found out. And Mary must now feel that he had shamed her. That he had damaged her reputation. Her purity. And she had to …to make some kind of respectable marriage to cover her disgrace. A disgrace he had brought upon her.

But why Carlisle? What kind of wife would Mary make for him? A beautiful one. An intelligent, witty companion for his dinner parties. One who played bridge and raised his children. Oh God, he was wallowing now.

Finally lifting his face towards her again, he said, "I can't speak of it." He shook his head. "But I understand why Robert did what he did." He paused, "and Mary too."

He pushed his bad leg out in front of him. Rubbed it absent mindedly. "I deserve his wrath. It just came as a shock." He said, trying to recover "Anyway. There's nothing to be done now. My mother would find it very ironic given the fact that I did not want this inheritance in the first place. So now I have that wish." The bitterness seeping back into his voice. "I shall not return to Downton until such time as I am made earl."

"Everything you've known for the past two years has just been torn asunder. I can see why that's a shock." Margaret would not push him for more information. "Sometimes we never know why things happen. We both know that more than anyone now don't' we? The war. The uncertainty of it all. But you must hold it together." She moved to open the thermos.

He looked at her with misery clouding his eyes. Could he move on?

"Simon and I have taken rather the interest in you after all." She tried to smile. "He wants me to take care of you while you've been stuck here. And I would be remiss in that duty if you were to continue to despair."

He accepted the proffered cup of coffee. It was hot and sweet going down his throat.

"Thank you." He took another sip. "I will be fine as soon as I'm back with the regiment. Plenty to do. It will put everything in perspective." He remembered the words he spoke with Thomas Barrow, "War has a way of distinguishing between the things that matter and the things that don't."

He had to just change his perspective. He determined to do so.

Margaret nodded, saying nothing to dissuade him. She knew that would be impossible for him. But he needed to believe it if he was to survive.

XX

**Feb 1916**

Mary awoke from what seemed like a long surreal dream. Images of falling to earth, of being in a never never world where murmured voices spoke but she could not reply.

"The loss of blood would have been more severe had you not gotten her in time." A man's voice was heard, a hushed whisper. "As it is now though, she'll recover. We finished our procedure and she can rest. You can take her home in a day or two."

Unfamiliar, Mary did not know if they were speaking about her. Blood? Procedure?

Then she heard a familiar voice. Richard's voice. "Thank you doctor. My wife and I are very grateful."

"And I'm sorry for your loss. But there is no reason why you cannot try again. After some time and rest of course."

"Of course." The Scottish burr soft and agreeable.

The doctor left and Mary turned towards the voice. She stirred and tried to speak. "Why…" Her mouth was dry.

Richard gave her some water. "Just rest now."

She tried again. "Why am I here? What happened?" Her voice, brittle and agitated.

Richard sat down in the chair next to the bed. He collected his thoughts on how best to tell this. "You fainted in my arms two days ago. I brought you here to the hospital." He tried to hold her hand but she snatched it away. "Your mother was here earlier today but the sleeping draughts have kept you in a deep slumber. I've already spoken to Lord Grantham. Apprised him in private about the situation."

His smooth tone was unnerving her. "What situation?" Mary tried to sit up but the pain in her belly forced her back down.

Richard swallowed slowly, then spoke. "It seems you were pregnant."

Mary's face, drawn pale from pain and sleep, turned sharply towards him. "What?"

Richard continued neutrally. "You lost the baby." Only then did he look at her. "I had to tell the doctors when I brought you in that you were my wife."

Mary gasped in slow appreciation of what had befallen her. She had no idea she was with child.

Then she looked dumbfounded as he said, "Well I couldn't very well tell the truth could I? That Robert's golden boy violated you and left you to fend for yourself. I, on the other hand, have your best interests at heart and have saved your reputation."

"I won't marry you." Mary said tersely. Her world collapsing.

"Oh you will. Once you consider your options. It is your best choice. Lord Grantham has agreed. And he wants it done as soon as possible." He moved to show her something. "I've already had the wedding announcement made in the _Gazette_."

"Papa won't make me. I… I will tell him." Mary bluffed. She had no idea whether she could tell her father the truth. "He will believe me."

"Oh he might believe you." Richard said, "But he will continue to agree with me. This way everyone will be safe from any scandal. Any stain." He leaned in, "or even any whisper of such."

Mary understood Richard's oblique threat. He owned newspapers. He could very easily drop a hint or two that would escalate to unwanted proportions. She did care what people thought, it was a weakness of hers.

And she did not want Matthew drawn into it at all. Not where he was. It was better that he not know about the baby. She was afraid of what kind of impulsive confession he might make. Her father would bring the wrath of God upon him for violating his daughter outside sanctity of the marital bed. Bring even more gossip and scandal. So she decided that Matthew won't be told anything. He would think the worst of her but that couldn't be helped. This way she could protect him. It was the least she could do. And the most.

She brushed a wayward strand of hair back across her head. "Very well. You seem to have thought of everything."

"I live in a tough world." He said. "I'm hoping to learn how to do things properly. I think we can help each other out. We could be a good team. You see, I've wanted to marry you since first meeting you at Cliveden."

"A marriage without love." Bluntly spoken.

"There are many kinds of marriages, my dear. Your parents for example. Some are drawn up under the most peculiar of circumstances. But grow. We're strong and sharp, and we can build something worth having, you and I. If you'll let us."

Mary turned away from him. She didn't want him to see the tears. "I will do what you ask." She needed to be strong.

"Remember I'm paying you the compliment of being honest. I believe this makes us come into our marriage on more equal terms." He sat back against the hard hospital chair.

"You mean rather I'm in your debt." Mary turned back to face him. "I'll be made not to forget that."

"Never mind. As my future wife, you're entitled to be in my debt." Richard said. "We'll make a go of it. You'll see."

She could not make out whether he was full of bluster or whether he actually believed his words.

But it did not matter. This was her life now. She'd better start making the best of it.

XX

_I see Matthew as a man of deep emotions—that he doesn't always know how to manage: duty, honor, guilt, passion, and love. He wears his emotions on his sleeve and goes with the moment. And regrets later. And we will see this time and time again with him. He lashes out. He loves big. His guilt is deep and self inflicted. I see Mary as a strong woman who can handle most of life's challenges. She has been made to endure great challenges in this story—some of her own making, some not. But she will rise to the occasion, make no doubt. We'll see how as this story continues. _

_OH God…don't hate me for this. I know it's very AU in some ways—(not as much as some recent stories I've read though…)—and perhaps this plot could have gone a different way with better communication, etc (But then so could canon). I wanted to try something different with this story. A war story without the traditional 'canon' elements or one whereMM get married during the war (those are already out there and are perfectly written by others!). This is a story of love. A love tested by distance, by scandal, by secrets, and by war. I believe in a good old romantic angsty story—and I'm going to try to give it my best in this one._


	11. Chapter 11: Doing One's Duty

_The nation must be taught to bear losses. … victories to be won without the sacrifice of men's lives. The nation must be prepared to see heavy casualty lists.' ( Douglas Haig June 1916 before the Battle of the Somme began)._

_Matthew and Mary fight their wars… stay with me please!_

XX

The Somme

Matthew prepared to blow the whistle. As soon as he did he knew he'd be a dead man.

It was 1 July and the guns had stopped. The eerie silence that followed made everyone uneasy. Eager to get on with 'it.'

Zero hour. The piercing bugle cry, like a shrieking banshee echoed across the empty landscape.

Then the mines were set off. Hawthorn redoubt exploded 45,000 lbs into the sky. The explosive force shaking the ground, making the already nervous men ashen faced in fear and dread. No turning back.

Matthew's outward calm was all for show. He looked around, his eyes falling on a man that had been on the sick list just yesterday. Yet here he was, rifle at ready. "How are you Thompson? You've shaken that cold?"

The young corporal could only nod. He could not find his voice.

Matthew clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Good man." He checked his watch. Almost time.

"We're with you, sir." Said another.

"We'll chuck it at them." Mason added, standing beside his Captain. Bayonet fixed.

"I know you will." Giving it as plummy and confident a sound as he knew how. "I can't tell you how much lighter that makes the task." Matthew was rightly proud of his company. They were all good men, strong and brave.

General Haig had promised that the eight days of non-stop shelling along the eighteen mile section of trench front had destroyed the German trenches. Had already killed massive numbers of German soldiers. The barbed wire was down and all they would have to do would be to stroll over and declare victory.

Matthew's order was to take his men into the second wave of soldiers over the top. To walk slowly, guns down, towards the enemy. Each man carrying 150 rounds of ammo. The dawn smoke and haze cleared. Matthew glanced at the sky. It's very piercing blue capturing the lie that this was a perfect day.

He had nothing but his pistol. He waved his hand and the company followed him over the parapets.

The first of his men died as soon as they began the walk. They were, as Simon had predicted the night before, while the bombardment rained overhead, going to walk straight into German bullets.

They were alone in the dugout. Mason had gone to fetch some coal for the cookstove.

"We're being ordered to tell the men to walk in a fucking straight line, for God's sake. Even the most myopic Boche will have easy marks. Might as well sing Rule Britannia while we're at it."

Matthew had looked cynically over at Simon. "They don't trust us. Kitchener's New Army anyway. Not your 'old contemptible' lot. They doubt the skills of the new recruits. And our courage. So they intend, so I was informed at GHQ to make it 'easy' on us so that all we will have to do is take the enemy's position and sit back and wait for Haig's personal cavalry charge to get all the glory."

All Simon could do was snort in derision. "…'And how can man die better than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his Gods?'"

"Do you believe that?" Matthew asked quietly. "Putting all cynicism aside. Do you think Macaulay is correct as 'Death cometh soon or late' isn't it better to die with your brother soldiers in the fight? That one can doubt, one can even criticize the bigger purpose but in the giving of your best, the going down together."

Or was it all a shambles? He did not voice. A pathetic lie they tell themselves to get through it all.

Simon could only slap his hands together and shake his head in resignation. The two men knew not to let this conversation spread beyond the officer's dugout. It didn't really matter, they both knew they would follow the orders anyway. For the regiment if for nothing else. Their orders also included to shoot on sight any man who stayed behind. So better to die in battle than shot for cowardice.

"Not the best options, mind you. But better to meet Saint Peter and say just blown in and feel confident you'll be allowed to enter the pearly gates." Simon blew some of his cigarette smoke with his hand. Matthew gave a short, bitter laugh at Heyton's black humor and took a swig of brandy from his flask. He played the next hand of Snap, the never-ending card game they kept always at hand on a side table.

They got quiet again and concentrated on the diversion that required observation and quick thinking.

Tomorrow would come soon enough. And take care of itself. However it might end.

And so it did.

Matthew stepped on the ladder and crossed the parapet himself. Pistol in hand he began to shoot his way across No Man's Land. The German guns took out the lance corporal beside him. He walked on without looking. There was no time to mourn. Screams failed to unnerve him. Bodies fell before his step. He kept pace with the company of soldiers ahead of him.

He had become immune to death. To killing. To being killed. He wished it would come fast, one bullet and done. Why didn't it just come?

It became obvious within three minutes that Haig, Rawlinson, and all the others that had planned for two years at GHQ were wrong. The genius of the plan was in the destruction of the enemy before the attack began. Except the Germans were not dead. The wire had not been cut. And the machine guns were already mowing down his men at will. They were untrained in dealing with failure. The one order had been to march on. Improvisation was not encouraged.

They were all dead men.

XX

The means by which Mary gained the upper hand in her marriage to Richard Carlisle required meticulous planning and timing. But Mary was now confident she would triumph.

He was hiding something. It was just a matter of finding out what. And using it the same way he had used her pregnancy and miscarriage in his favor.

Not that it would get her out of this stifling, loveless marriage. That she was resigned to believing was for life. There was, as Granny Violet had spoken to her in confidence, no mechanism for a woman to do so. The husband held all the cards in marriage. Especially if that husband never strayed. Never abandoned her. The only recourse was acceptance.

Cora had explained all of this already, when she laid out Mary's options to her when her willful daughter balked at marrying Richard.

"But how can I?" Mary asked. "I don't love him. Forty years of boredom and duty just isn't possible for me."

"For once in your life, will you please just listen!" Cora's response. "If you don't make this marriage it will get out into society that you are not virtuous. You are damaged goods. Do you want that to happen? Think what it would do to Edith? To Sybil? Doors will be slammed all over London."

"This is not 1813 and we are not living at Longbourn." Mary retorted. "Mama the world is changing. New ways of thinking…."

"You and Matthew weren't thinking at all. Now we all have to live with the consequences of your actions." Cora's retort swift. "Your papa was only looking out for your best interests."

Mary threw Cora the most disgusted of looks. "I know what Papa says. And I do understand his perspective. He has the family name to consider. But he is, perhaps, far too interested in appearances. He acts as if I'm some kind of pariah. A Jezebel."

"He's only trying to help. And it is true things are changing. But not that much. And not fast enough for you. You are the eldest daughter of an earl. And are expected to act at all times in accords with that role."

"I know my duty, Mama." Mary sat down beside her mother. "And you're right. I don't like scandal. Or being the subject of idle gossip. But neither of you have to live with the man."

"Take up separate bedrooms as soon as you can. He'll get the hint and soon you will be leading separate lives." Cora's baldness on the reality of a loveless marriage shocked Mary.

But she did just that. First claiming pain and discomfort after her surgical procedure, Richard surprisingly understood.

"I'm a patient man, Mary. Not an ogre. You will see. We can make this work." Richard had said, one evening a month after their quiet wedding at a small chapel in London. Only the closest family present. Richard seemingly had no family, Mary regarded. And few friends.

And later when an appropriate amount of time had passed, the necessary consummation took place. He made few demands on her thereafter.

Mary was never one for sitting around idly by. Especially given the war. At Downton she had taken on all the domestic household responsibilities. But now she resided in an Eaton Square townhouse. Richard had purchased it for her as a wedding present. Despite his opposition, Mary had taken to working a couple nights a week at a soldier's canteen. Many women of her station did so. It was seen as their patriotic duty. And it allowed her to believe, to imagine that helping to serve tea and cocoa to recuperating soldiers, she was helping the one man whom she wanted to help the most. She looked for Matthew amongst the men, but of course the officers were allowed to go elsewhere. To their clubs. And their own billets.

He was never among the men she served.

Their townhouse also became a venue to entertain and impress rival press barons with Carlisle's newly acquired upwardly mobile status. He was now within circles of peerage whose doors had been closed to him. Mary presided over his dinner parties as hostess. She became well known in London society over the course of the year for her wit and dinner party conversation. She knew the subjects to avoid—the horrors of the war, the rationing of food, the lack of good alcohol—and which to play to her advantage.

This was how she found out about Carlisle's back room dealings. Carlisle wanted to rise the 'greasy pole' of political success. His ambitions ate away at his soul, Mary found whenever she tried to understand her husband's driving work habits. Northcliffe and Beaverbrook's successes he ached to surpass. So Carlisle's guest were always well place members of the government, of society, and of business. He wanted to cultivate these men. Get the war manufacturers in particular to advertise in his papers. That the company that once sold men's shoes and now sold boots to the government on contract, could be a boon to Carlisle's newspapers budgets.

But he was also looking the other way when it came to shoddy manufacturing. To keep their profitable business, or even she began to suspect accept some money under the table for keeping hush about boots that leaked and caused trench foot, or perhaps worse gas masks that were totally ineffective due to skimping on the materials.

Mary was in idle conversation with a manufacturer of fountpens who was making a killing ("erm…pardon the expression" he had tried to say…) on the reality that every soldier wanted to write home. And every officer had to write personal letters of condolences to relatives of those slain in battle.

"But at least I don't needlessly kill them, like some I could mention." And he jerked his head towards a former ironmonger turned gas mask producer.

"What?" Mary was shocked to learn of this. Some of the men in the canteen were gassed with mustard gas or phosgene. And when she visited Downton both Sybil and Edith dealt with such victims on a daily basis.

And of course her thoughts were never far from Matthew.

"Oh aye…" The man continued. "'Everybody's doing it' as the song goes, so no one is found out. None want to turn in the other."

"Someone in the government surely?" Mary knew the previous year's shells crisis had resulted in a change of government, with Asquith thrown out and a coalition of all parties now in power under Lloyd George.

"They need proof. No one will come forward. Your own husband still uses them as advertisers in his papers. They invest in them. He lets it pass."

Mary turned red faced in fury. "That's quite the accusation." She may not love Richard, but she never thought him complicit in some kind of cover up.

"Pardon if I said too much. But something needs to be done about it." He said.

She looked down the table at Richard. He nodded pleasantly in her direction. He was pleased with how she presided over his table. So elegant. So refined. Just what he had wanted from her. Now if he could only have her forget her soldier lover at the front. Richard followed the Somme battle closely. He had to for his editorials. Matthew's name never appeared on the casualty list. He would notice Mary scanning the paper every morning, while pretending to peruse the social section.

Mary, at the other end of the table, returned Richard's nod, without giving away anything regarding the conversation that just took place with the pen man. "Mr.. uh… Mr Pillbox?" She ventured

He laughed graciously. "Pulbrook, my Lady. Clive Pulbrook."

She also laughed off the gaffe. "Of course. Mr. Pulbrook. You have been most informative. I shall not forget."

"See if you can get your husband to get out of the pockets of them manufacturers. Take a stand." He huffed. "I am all for good business. But not at the expense of our boys at the front."

But when she initially mentioned the gas mask issue to Richard later that night, as he made ready to leave her bedroom after saying good night, he told her to leave such things to those that know best.

And that moment she said nothing. Though repulsed at his dismissal, she filed it away for future use. She would investigate and collect some facts first. Tomorrow she was to go to Downton for a long visit. Maybe she could ask some questions there to confirm Pulbrook's accusations.

She would try. It was something. Not just for her survival in this marriage. For a sense of equality in her relationship with Richard. But also for the war. To right, even a small wrong, is something when one could do nothing about the larger horrors the war presented. She would do it for Matthew. For Mason. She could cope with the war when she concentrated on the survival of those she loved.

She missed Matthew as a missing piece of herself. They had lost their opportunity to be together. But their night of love not to be tainted with recriminations or blame. It was indeed all that sustained her now. The memories of his fingers. His hair. His eyes. The weight of his body atop hers. His breath. His heart.

His life.

XX

**France: August 1916**

Mason was drunk. He had never been drunk before. The buzz in his head was pleasant though, he had to admit. He couldn't understand it however, as he had only two glasses of wine. Served to him in the type of crystal wine glass he usually served to others. That also made his head spin.

The war was a funny old place sometimes. He had accompanied Captains Crawley and Heyton on an excursion to Rouen to pick up the new raw conscripts. They had been on the way back when the truck blew two tires on the muddy rutted roads.

"Bollocks." The driver said, pulling his cap back over his head. "We need to find a camp with a radio. I've got no replacements."

So a couple of the men were sent down the sunken road and around the bend to where they thought a encampment of Welsh Fusiliers was located. The rest took refuge in a burnt out French chateau just up the road a bit.

That's where they found the wine cellar. As it was well within the British lines, no one was all that concerned about Germans coming to take prisoner, or even sniper fire. It was just another typical balls up. The Fusilier's had no tires to spare. They radioed for aid, but nothing could come til morning.

That's when the drinking began in earnest. Heyton had been the first to pop the champagne cork.

Matthew' screwed his face in concern about private property, but Simon looked around. "No one here old boy, like on the sea I claim right of salvage." And he handed the bottle to Matthew. He turned to the rest of the men of their unit. And the new recruits. "Share and share alike me boys. Come on…"

They were all well past it several hours later.

Mason had found a tinny piano. He tickled some of the ivories idly until he started in on Long Way to Tipperary and one of the new boys began to hum along. Then they all started in. Heyton and Crawley had stopped drinking and began taking turns standing guard at the door of the chateau. Both felt at ease here. But it was instinctive to stay ready. To keep to Army routine as much as possible. So they stood to arms as night fell.

They let the men rest. And soon they too began to join in. Mason had looked to Matthew for the go ahead to keep playing.

Matthew was leaning against the door jam. "It's fine Mason. We're in no danger here." He wanted to believe that completely. But even when there was no evidence of hazard, the war had a way of sneaking up on them.

Heyton proved that when he went out to use the temporary latrine they dubbed the small wooded area at the back as the chateau's had been blown to smithereens. Communal toileting and bathing had become commonplace. No one batted an eye anymore. Lice infested clothing had to be steamed along with every one else's. Flea powder became a daily necessity. These were the things one did not write in letters home.

When Heyton did not show up within five minutes, Matthew went out to look for him. And found him lying in the ditch, near the side of the sunken road.

"What happened?" Matthew leaned down and lifted his friend up by shoulder.

"Damnest thing. Stupid really." Heyton's eyes watered from pain. "I twisted my ankle using the damn loo. Fell right on my arse and it came out from under me."

Matthew guffawed. "Let's get you back inside and take a look."

By a few hours later it was red and swollen. Infection was a possibility given the limited cleaning resources available at the chateau. Matthew kept a close watch on it.

As dark fell, they all took one last shot of the whsky that had been discovered in the butler's pantry. Or whatever it was called in Froggy land, as Heyton said. He was in real pain and needed something to dull his senses.

_The minstrel boy to the war is gone,_

_In the ranks of death you'll find him_

Heyton's baritone sang. Matthew's light tenor joined in with his friend. He knew it was one of Simon's favorites.

_His father's sword he has girded on,_

_And his wild harp slung behind him_

Soon everyone was singing at the top of their lungs. Banging their hands on their knees to keep the beat, as Mason kept up the tune on the piano.

_Land of Song!" said the warrior bard,_

_"Though all the world betrays thee,_

_One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,_

_One faithful harp shall praise thee!_

They all knew this respite was temporary. The war was still out there. As night fell the shelling had begun. They could hear the whistles. They tried not flinch. A couple of the new conscripts took shelter in the corner of the chateau, shaking a bit. Looking up with wild eyes towards the ceiling.

"Those are our boys." Matthew tried to reassure them. "Off Bethune way. You'll soon get used to it." Using the same tired phrases that had been used on him.

Oddly enough, though, they had worked. He had gotten used to it. It was all he knew now. This life. These friends. He had not been home on leave in months. Not since his leg injury when his life had changed inalterably. There was nothing for him there. His mother was in Paris with the Red Cross. So when he did have a few days leave, he went there. He and Heyton had been in September visiting both Isobel and Margaret.

He put his mind against any thought of Mary. Except when he broke his own rules. Mason knew him too well. He would say nothing when the billfold came out again. When Matthew once again, late at nights when exhaustion overtook him, fingered the well-worn leather casing. When he opened it and gazed at the woman he had so terribly wronged with his thoughtlessness. Their night had been his responsibility. His guilt wound around him like a suffocating blanket some nights. When the pain of missing her became too much.

The war, in an odd way helped. Forced him out of himself and towards thinking merely about taking the next steps in front of him. Follow these orders. Write those letters. Become numb to the death that surrounded his and every other soldier's daily existence. He had, after all, survived the single worst day in British Army history. He had been sure he would be counted among the dead or at least the wounded after 1 July 1916. But as the whims of war played out, he came out of that day with barely a scratch. His psyche damaged that much more beyond any repair. But no physical damage.

So he fought on. The Somme dragged on and on. It was still not over by October when he and Heyton had once again volunteered to retrieve the recruits and found themselves singing old Irish ballads late at night while drinking good whisky and taking shelter in a bombed out French chateau.

A funny old war indeed.

When would the blasted thing end? And what kind of future would he find? "The future…" Matthew thought, the darkness of the night giving him a measure of peace as the guns temporarily fell silent. "Is there even such a place?"

XX

"Granny, I need your advice." Mary said to Violet after dinner at Downton a day or so after her arrival. She had discreetly asked a fellow officer of her father's at that same dinner. He was serving along side Robert in the Quartermaster General, supplying the men with needed materials. Without sussing out her true purpose, he confirmed that some of the recent supplies of gas masks had to be recalled due to numerous complaints of shoddy workmanship and ineffective use against the German poison gas releases along the trench front.

So now Mary had to act. She and her grandmother were sitting in a corner of the music room, apart from the rest of the guests. "I have found out some information that I'm not sure how to use."

Violet waited for Mary to continue. "Yes my dear?"

"Richard is accepting money and advertising from manufacturers of war material that is most probably wounding and probably killing some men at the front. He doesn't know I know this. But I feel I must confront him."

Violet's eyes grew large with interest. "You are sure about this? That is quite the charge."

"I am." Her voice calm. "But how do I confront him? I want him to stop. I feel it will also give me some leverage in our relationship. But will he seek instead some kind of reprisal against me? Use my story to keep me quiet again?"

Violet had been informed of Mary's secret. From her own lips. Robert's version had been full of invective against Matthew, and wounded pride against the family. Mary felt she had to explain what really happened. Violet had felt instant sympathy for her granddaughter. War, she had discovered in her long life, often brought people together in intimacy when the fear of separation, the fear of death befell them.

Such was so with Mary and Matthew. They had been foolish of course. Fools in love often are. They both were paying high prices for their foolishness.

"I would confront him outright. Use the type of language that was used against you. Warn him that if he should ever breathe a word of your story to anyone, you will go straight to the war office and turn him in." Violet saw Mary flinch. She reached out and took her hand. Squeezed it.

"Men such as he respect fighting language. You are equal to this task. At the very least, confront him to get him to stop his portion of the activity. And to encourage him to turn in the war profiteers of his own volition. That way he could look like he's the one doing his duty for king and country. But you will always know better. And he will always know that you know."

Mary's head came up, saying shrewdly "And that will give me some power over him for a change."

"If it is used wisely. Yes." Violet agreed. "You must do what needs to be done. And take advantage of it as is your right."

Mary was resolute. She would confront Richard as soon as she returned to London. Richard liked to shoot and hunt. He liked being in charge. Being the one to bring down the quarry. This time though, she thought, the prey would become attacker. He expected her to play the role given to her as his dutiful wife. She would instead reassert her independence. Her strength. He preyed on the weak. She would prove him otherwise.

Mary took a slow sip of her sherry. "Then that is exactly what I will do."

XX

T_his is the angsty part of the story ... please stay with me! Review! Tell me what you think!? The emotions are raw. The love will be tested. But the working out of how they got here...as difficult it might be... will make their reunion that much more real and meaningful._

_I know a kind of transitional chapter here… lots more angst to come.. .but this sets up the action to follow. I don't want Mary to be some kind of passive character in this story, who has to wait on Matthew to save her—she's finding ways to make the best of things on her own. Matthew's story will take a drastic turn in the next chapter… one that will set up the chain of events leading to his indiscretion and charges of conduct unbecoming._

_Then out spake brave Horatius,_

_The Captain of the Gate:_

_"To every man upon this earth_

_Death cometh soon or late._

_And how can man die better_

_Than facing fearful odds,_

_For the ashes of his fathers,_

_And the temples of his Gods. [Lays of Ancient Rome, a collection of narrative poems, or lays, by Thomas Babington Macaulay]_

_July 1 1916: the British Fourth Army headquarters believed that there had been 16,000 casualties, by 3 July the staff thought that there had been 40,000 losses. The final total was 57,470 casualties, 19,240 of whom had been killed; the French Sixth Army had 1,590 losses and the German 2nd Army lost 10,000–12,000 men. It remains the single worst day in British Army history as 91% of the army was either killed, wounded, or missing._


	12. Chapter 12: How Could That Have Happened

_Scandal is upon Matthew…_

_This is the reworked story "Where My Heart Truly Rests" in final form. So some of this is familiar. But the chapter is completely reworked and rethought and expanded. :) I will delete the other story as it now is a part of this larger work._

XX

April 1917: Berles, France.

"Captain Crawley." The name, an accusation rather than a request, barked out by the Regimental Sergeant Major at the door. "You're to report to Major Peters immediately. His temporary office. You're to come with me now."

Matthew opened the door. The sergeant's glassy eye looked in no mood for any delay on the younger man's part.

Matthew nodded curtly and returned to the room only to retrieve his cap and great coat. He then followed the RSM outside. The rain had stopped, thank God, even so the careful work Mason had done to ensure the Captain's boots were faultlessly shined, was now ruined as the mud flecked his buckles and the leather.

"Every little bit helps." Mason had quipped earlier in the afternoon, trying to put Matthew at some ease. "Put effort in to give a good appearance and that's half the battle won; that's what Mr. Carson used to say."

Matthew, grateful, but only half listening, continued to nervously adjust his Sam Browne belt. And it was more restless action than anything else. Mason had also made a high polish of all the buttons and shined the belt.

"He's here special just for this." The sneer in the RSM's voice unmistakable. "Taken time out of his busy schedule. Get a move on."

At the sergeant's terse request to follow him, Matthew placed his Service Dress cap, not floppy as he would have worn it in the trenches, but stiff as if for parade, on his head. He pulled his arms through the great coat and put on his leather gloves. Stood up and followed the RSM out the door of his billet.

How had it all come to this?...

XX

Mary first read about "it" from Richard's newspaper. Of course. Relishing every detail, the chatty, garrulous story spoke of the young disgraced officer of The Duke of Manchester's Own and the pretty widow he used most ill. Seducing her at her weakest moment, when she had just received word of her brave husband's death on the field of battle. Heir to the Grantham estate Captain Matthew Crawley had, according to the tawdry recreation of events based on unnamed eye witnesses, cozened up to Mrs. Heyton in her hotel room (on more than one occasion according to some accounts) and ensnared her in a tête-à-tête to satisfy his own animalistic lust. Needs not slaked presumably from just visiting the blue light establishments that discreetly catered to young officers. And now he faced disciplinary charges with a possible court-martial to follow.

At first Mary hardly believed it. Then by the third straight day she was sick to death of it. Carlisle had said people were tired of war news. Wanted something to take their minds off the casualty lists. And he was giving it to them. He owed it to his readers.

"The journalists just report, Mary." He said dryly over breakfast. "I didn't invent the story." He was, as usual deep into reading every inch of his reportage.

She snorted. "But you take advantage of it to sell more of your papers." She threw down her dry toast. No appetite for such things.

"I am a newspaperman. That is what I do. I won't apologize for it. My responsibility is to investors. I need to keep my readership up."

"I thought you said you left public spirits to government propaganda. Yet here you are catering to the public's lust for scandal." Richard as editor had his hands all over this hatchet job.

"Your words," he said carefully, "not mine."

Mary tossed the paper aside in disgust. Mathew could never have done what he's accused of doing.

At least not the Matthew she knew. He had been absent from her life for over a year.

Was it possible?

She felt dirty even reading it. Even for a moment believing it.

Mary knew soldiers from the canteen acted in ways that defied convention. They were unpredictable, looked at sea one moment, demonic the next; started fights over the most trivial of matters, they were unable to sit, unable to feel anything. They tried to hide the despair. Had been drilled by their officers to say nothing about the war.

But she saw it. In how they lived in another world. One that made them shake. Made them mumble under their breath. The faraway look in their eyes that frightened her.

Could they ever come back from the hell where they had been?

And she thought of Matthew. Out there. How had he changed? Even when she was with him, in their night at Crawley House she knew him different. Harder. Bitter. Distant.

But still Matthew. Tender in his love making, she would never think him otherwise. Never ruin the one precious memory she had of him. She unconsciously felt her belly. She had never told him about their child. He deserved to be told. One day, she kept saying, one day when the war is over she would get him aside and reveal everything.

But not yet. His war was still being fought. She did not want to trouble his already fragile mind with more.

But now this. He had been with another woman.

And Richard could not be more gleeful about this turn of events. She was sure he believed it would turn her against Matthew forever. That he had thrown her over for another. The wife of his best friend no less. And treated her in the same filthy manner he had treated Mary. That was the cover, the accounting Richard maintained. And this, this dishonor only seemed to confirm his version of events.

Mary despaired.

She refused to believe it. Knew Matthew's character better than anyone. Richard wanted him to be a cad and a bounder. A middle class upstart who had no real sense of gentlemanlike behavior around women.

"The war did such things to some men." He and Robert would intone self-righteously, over drinks when they thought Mary did not hear.

Utter nonsense. For Mary knew. Knew he had been with no other woman before her. They had revealed as such to each other in the wee hours of the morning when they held each other close and he stroked her naked form. He had laughed when he admitted it.

"I had some opportunities…" he had said. His hand stopped, lazily resting inside the curve of her hip.

"But…" She encouraged.

"…I should say I was waiting for the right woman." He whispered playfully in her ear.

"You should…." She languidly drawled in return, moving her face up to his. Kissed his lower lip with her teeth.

His deep blue eyes pierced her own, dilated from erotic arousal. "…and so I did. I'm glad I waited for you. For this." His own lips then surrounded to her own.

She could still feel the pressure of that kiss.

He would never be capable of the accusations made against him. War or no war, she knew Matthew. He would never violate a woman's honor. There must be more to this story.

But she kept such matters to herself. As she had kept the truth about their night together private. And maybe that had been the wrong decision. In keeping things to herself, she had let others make assumptions. Conjecture that Matthew had taken advantage of her, as if she was some child straight out of the nursery who was too innocent to realize how she had been dishonored. Thinking it was love when it was lust. He had overpowered her. Used her. And left her.

Her father had been visiting the day the scandal broke in the papers. He had arrived from York just in time for breakfast before a meeting in London with the Quartermaster General. Cora was staying with her daughter for a few days. Mary had left the room to take a telephone call.

"Thank God Mary dodged a bullet there." He had said triumphantly to Cora before throwing down the paper. Mary, in the doorway, turned and fled the room. Her father's smugness was too much for her to bear.

She needed to tell him the truth. She had let events play out far too long. Had let Matthew bear the brunt of their mutual… their mutual what? Shame? No… their decision to share the love they felt with their bodies as well as their souls.

What was the shame in that?

She had pulled herself through the grief of losing their child. From her fear of discovery.

Now, as the war dragged on and life was precious, she needed to do something about it. To right wrongs.

Matthew had taken on the entire blame for their night. Had accepted Robert's wrath. His exile from Downton. He did that for Mary. He had accepted her marriage to another man as the price paid for his guilt.

And then, in taking on that guilt, they lost each other. He had moved on. Had lived his life without her. And she the same.

And now he was in need.

She would help Matthew even as he slipped away from her. She didn't understand the events surrounding this affair –if even that was what it was—but in time he would explain, and she would listen.

Isn't that what love is all about?

XX

Matthew's mind was adrift. When had it all become a blur? The hell of the Somme, he determined grimly. That day, July 1, 1916 when the lies had all become apparent. Nothing accomplished. Unless you count the almost 20,000 men dead. At that point, as all rained chaos and blood around him, he became numb. No longer innocent. No longer the person he was.

He and Simon had railed in private against the generals. The newspapers. The bishops of the church and their own government. Not that the talk went beyond their dugout. Such talk was insubordination and not permissible in front of the men.

And so they followed orders. Ironic that, Matthew concluded as he marched slightly behind the RSM, for here he was about to be brought up on disciplinary charges.

Not, he reminded himself bitterly, not... though for cowardice. That he could never be accused of. No… not that… he had killed his fair share of the enemy. He had accepted their fucking orders and followed them to the fucking letter. Had even won a medal for it.

Maybe that's what he should be accused of. Of following orders he knew to be the height of stupidity.

And murdered his own men.

But that wasn't the charge. Instead it was for the giving in to anguish. In the act of loving. In the sharing of grief.

Did he deserve it? Were the charges true?

He had disciplined his mind against love. He had determined to forget that emotion. Love, sentiment, feeling alive—these were things that existed in that other time, the time before the war. Before the mud. The death. The stench. When happiness seemed in his grasp. Then the war happened. Then he happened. He became a different person. The kind of person that had taken Mary as a lover even as he knew such action was inappropriate. Not because of some outmoded social convention, but because he was no longer the man she thought he was.

And that was unforgiveable. Maybe he was the kind of man that took out his baser needs on the women around him? Maybe that was what happened with Mary. With Margaret. And he's fooling himself to believe it was otherwise. That it was deeper. More meaningful. Between two people that shared something special.

Maybe he was just weak.

Mary had found him so. Wounded in mind and spirit. He had not fought for her. He had been too late. And she had gotten on with her life in the wake of the disgrace he had brought upon her.

She would not want him back.

Especially now. He was outside the bounds of society.

Sex among soldiers and locals was a taboo subject to the army.

Not that it did not go on every day. Everyone just looked the other way as the brothels did a roaring trade business in Boulogne and other cities populated with transient soldiers.

That was different he was told.

What he did was different. This was not a simple money for sex transaction, but one where he forced himself on another. This was not some French tart, but an officer's wife. And it wasn't in a dirty back room, but a hotel frequented by generals and allied diplomats. Lord Kitchener had made it clear in August 1914 that the men must entirely resist temptation and avoid any intimacy. That the officers must be proper examples. The very picture of propriety, decorum, and strength of mind. Matthew had allowed his discipline to falter. And in this war, that was unforgivable. Without discipline the men, already fragile in mind and spirit, would weaken. And order would collapse. The war would be lost.

Or so the argument went.

And for those reasons, he was to be made an example of. "Standards, Crawley" he had been told when the charges were first read, "Standards must be maintained." The whiff of disapproval on the breath of the unknown, overly pious captain who was the first to talk to him.

The previous night Matthew spent time researching. He had, as his legal training kicked in, looked up punishment for his supposed crime in the _Army Act and Field Service Regulation _manual. The disciplinary action, depending on evidence and leniency, varied from reprimand, severe reprimand, admonition, to cashiering.

"God help me." He muttered to himself when he had read that the night before. "Cashiered?" Kicked out. Summarily dismissed from the service without rank and then automatically re-conscripted as a private. So out and back in without privilege of rank. But with the humiliation of guilt. The stain of abuse for not censoring his own lust.

But that's not how it was at all. He had let himself slip only once. When the caress of a woman's touch crept across his face and he was lost. Lost to sensations he thought had long abandoned his mind and his body.

War does not allow for softness. And now he must pay the piper.

Simon had died. And he and Margaret had found their own response to grief. Maybe it was wrong. In the eyes of others. But not to them.

How do you explain that to your commanding officer?

How do you explain it to the dead? To Simon? This haunted Matthew. A spectre of a ghost, sitting in the corner of his room. Simon's left eyebrow arched in mocking judgement. Tell me he seemed to be saying. You made love to my wife. Excuse that, if you please.

The self-loathing portion of his psyche plagued him with that spectre.

Would Simon understand? Or accuse him of taking advantage? Or of trying to pitifully help in the worse possible of ways. That he felt sorry for Margaret?

It was none of those things.

Matthew and Margaret had talked it out in the hours that followed - and came to the same conclusion.

They had come together to stop the aching loneliness. To forget. A blissful moment of forgetting. About the war. About their loss.

It had been heady. Exhilarating. A world unto themselves. Skin touching. Bodies coupled. Intoxicating like alcohol without the need to drink.

Except the cold hangover that was their loss was still there. Still raw. Still bleeding.

Matthew had heard of Simon's death from Major Godson, the man in charge of the machine gun conversion course he and Heyton were attending in the spring of 1917. The change of pace had been just what the two men needed. Away from the front lines, they would spend a couple of months learning about the new battalion, get their transfer to lead new companies using the revamped weapon, and be promoted majors with some leave time due. The utter failure of the Somme had finally brought home the message that the British army needed to update its weaponry. While it was not lost upon either man that this was yet another massive weapon of mass attrition, they hoped at the very least it would bring the war to a swifter end.

"All in all a most welcome respite." Simon had concluded. And it brought Margaret to Berles. She had been still at GHQ in Montreuil sur Mer but came for a few days to see her husband. The three of them had spent all their free time together. Matthew had accompanied Simon and Margaret to a musical evening at a local magistrate's home. The long days of training and learning made easier by leisurely late night suppers and good conversation.

And then Simon was posted first. As the senior officer Major Simon Heyton left Berles and took up his post as commander of a divisional machine gun company in Arras.

He was killed a day later. A sniper got him.

A good man dead. Another stupid casualty of this endless war.

Matthew went to see Margaret. Not to tell her, thank God. That was done by others. But to share her grief. To merely be. Be with her. With the other someone who knew him best. Who had loved him as much.

He knocked on her door. Thinking nothing. A mind bereft. She had let him in. No words needed between them. Sat down. Bone chilled cold. He started shaking. She crept a hand close to his face.

Touched him.

He turned. Saw the same reflected pain.

Their world narrowed and became one.

Had he kissed her first? Or she? Neither could remember. Just that their lips touched and the pressure of touch felt good. Felt alive. No other thought existed but to continue the sensation. To its inevitable end. They were lost to each other.

Matthew woke hours later. Margaret's warm body was next to him. Still asleep. They had talked some during the night. Came to understand that all was well between them.

Yet doubts crept into his mind.

He had to leave. Could not be seen in a woman's private room overnight. That would just make everything worse.

So he kissed her cheek, dressed, and left the hotel room. It was still dark when he stumbled back to his billet, showered, and fell into a fitful sleep. The day's drill went by in a blur. Then it was done.

Matthew turned his steps back towards Margaret's hotel. He had to see her. To apologize? To continue their liaison? Part of his body wanted to continue. The part that longed to feel a woman's softness again.

Matthew knew he was prone to bouts of strangling self-pity. It was a dark place where he let out his own self-doubts, his belief in his own inadequacies. His guilt. Sometimes it suffocated him. In inaction and doubt. The war had taught him that was an indulgence he could no longer afford.

Now he felt it overtake him again.

Knocked on her door once again. Margaret opened it immediately, as if she had been waiting all day for his rapping.

He took off his cap and walked in. "Hello." She closed the door. He took her hand.

"I…." He hung his head. No idea how to start.

She was ever more practical. "Let's go sit and talk, shall we."

He nodded. She did not let go of his hand.

"I don't even know where to start… " He began. "What happened…."

Margaret's soft hazel eyes met his own. "Happened." She said. "It's just between us."

"I'm not even supposed to be here. Not alone with a married woman." The formal repercussions were only now entering his fogged mind.

"I'm no longer married." She said flatly.

Matthew's strangled breath made her grip his hand tighter. "That's even worse."

"I don't intend to tell anyone." Her eyes had closed in pain. The memories came and went in flashes of happiness and grief. She hardly knew if she was alive herself at times.

"Matthew, can you hold me again?" She asked. And he gathered her in his arms. Buried his face in her chignon. She was shivering.

They stayed that way until she recovered. "Thank you." And they kissed. A light, glancing kiss eyes opened.

"Will you stay with me again?" She could not bear being alone when the shadows spoke to her. "Not…" She said with the first attempt of a smile, "not like last night. That was special. That was ours. Just because I'm afraid of the dark right now."

"Of course." He said, warmth flooding his voice.

And so he did. Some of it spent in the chair next to the bed. He read her favorite Jane Austen until she fell asleep. And then he dozed in the chair until her arm drew him upon the bed. And he slept soundly under the cover she put atop him.

The next day followed much the same. It was to be her last night in Berles. She was to return to England and Simon's parents. Her own were dead, but there were distant relatives in America and there she imagined, was her future.

She told as much to Matthew when he arrived around 7pm.

He burst out with, "Maybe we should get married." He had said, out of what? A sense of obligation? Of gentlemanlike behavior. "I … am alone." He swallowed hard. "I don't like thinking of you being alone as well."

"Oh you dear dear man." She responded. "Thank you. But no. No Matthew."

He looked somewhat surprised, halfway relieved. Then embarrassed by that relief. "Why not?"

"Do I look like someone in need of marrying a man in love with someone else?" Her eyebrow quirked up, just like another intelligent woman he knew.

He thrust his head between his hands and groaned. "I've fucked up everything." An embittered, guttural laugh emerging from the back of his throat. "She doesn't want me. She married to get away from me."

"To a man she loves?" Margaret asked.

"No." He was confident about that response at least. "She could not possibly love him." He spat the next words out. "She had to marry, to escape a potential disgrace." He looked shamed faced over at her. "A disgrace I brought on her."

"Then you must do something to rectify it. Are you going to fight for her?" She asked.

Matthew could only give her a bewildered look.

Ironically Margaret was gaining strength. "Matthew. You helped me. We helped each other. Now let me help you. You must do all you can with the time you have left to find happiness. Otherwise there's been no point to all this."

He could only nod acknowledgement. He had nothing to give her. Mary. He seemed only the shell of the man he once was. Simon's loss was just another blow. One he'll get over soon enough he reckoned.

The war brought such losses every day. His was no different.

Margaret offered him a glass of sherry. He accepted it, sipping slowly.

"I would need to get her alone. Away from her husband. From Robert as well." He downed the glass. Thinking, gaining confidence. "Maybe if we could just talk…."

Margaret nodded encouragingly. He needed a purpose. Beyond the war. "Tell her what's in your heart." She said quietly. "And I think you'll find hers much the same."

He leaned forward in his seat. "I want to believe that so much." He put the glass down. "I've got to go back to my billet. Mason is packing. We're off tomorrow to take up my post."

"And I'm to go to Dorchester." She said, hugging herself to keep out the chill that overtook her body.

"We'll keep in touch?" He asked. Hugging her lightly. "Can I have the Heyton's address? When I'm next in England I will visit as well."

"Of course."

And they left it at that.

Neither knew that Matthew's visits to her hotel room had been clocked by more than one serving officer of the machine gun course. Curious at first, the more he visited the more suspicious they became. Eventually one mentioned it to another who told the aide-de-camp who felt he had to inform the adjutant of the odd behavior of one Captain Matthew Crawley visiting late at night and leaving early in the morning the rooms of the recently widowed Margaret Heyton.

And so the charges were brought. And Matthew's posting was suspended until his punishment was accorded.

XX

So a week later, Matthew found himself taking this walk of shame to the temporary quarters set up by the adjutant of the Duke of Manchester's Own.

He and the sergeant arrived at Peters' office door. The sergeant opened it swiftly, announced Crawley's presence, saluted and stepped back.

Captain Matthew Crawley snapped to full attention. Saluted, called out his name and rank and presence. And waited. Eyes front. Glazed over. An unreality settling in around him.

Peters, head bowed with some reading glasses poised on the tip of his nose, slowly looked up.

"Stand at ease." He drawled out. Matthew stood down and took his cap off. Only then could he look his officer in the eye.

Peters returned the look with a wearied, tired gaze. Disappointment? Or the general ennui all the soldiers were feeling until the big spring push of 1918 in a few months? Matthew could not tell.

"We're both here Crawley," Peters started in… and then gestured in jaded frustration to the younger man, "Sit down."

Matthew looked positively miserable. A small pang of pity crossed Peter's face.

Matthew swallowed some bile and did so. Was this a good thing? Not being made to stand during the interrogation?

Was it even going to be an interrogation? Or would that follow at the trial?

Oh God. A trial… No his mind rebelled. Please God let this be settled outside of any court procedure.

He knew minor disciplinary actions were usually settled within the regiment. Usually with docking of pay, or field detention, or at worse military detention. Perhaps a demotion? How would his mother take a demotion? He had not let his mind go to Isobel and the disappointment she must feel. Yet another apology to make.

Matthew eased himself uncomfortably into the hard backed chair. His eyes, tired and glassy, reflected those of his second in command.

Neither really wanted to be here.

Maybe it could be settled within the regiment. "Crawley." The older man started in again. "The potential charges against you are quite serious. Gross indecency, behaving in a scandalous manner unbecoming the character of an officer and a gentleman."

The baldness of those words struck Matthew as if slapped across the face. Was it really as bad as that? He knew the regulations. But the context, the essence was missing.

Had he really become that person? Peters knew better. His steely gaze eyeing the younger man sitting straight in the chair before him. He had known Crawley since 1915 when he had asked he sing with the company at the train station before shipping out. There had been some girl there with him hadn't there? He had become a good officer. A good leader of men. A good man.

Peters continued. "I want to settle this without any kind of disciplinary hearing." Matthew's audible relief came out in a huff of air. "But…." And his eyes met Matthew's across the table. "I will need your cooperation. You must, in essence, confess. Otherwise I will be forced to take further action."

Matthew's eyes grew wild and large. "Confess…?" His voice, so normally robust and commanding barking out orders to his men, became quiet and subdued. He would never confess. Such a thing was impossible. What was done was done in the utmost privacy. He would never betray her.

"You were seen, Crawley." Peters own voice terse, unrelenting. "Seen leaving a brother officer widow's hotel room." Here he paused. Matthew looked up. "Seen leaving on more than one occasion I might add."

Matthew's head twisted to the side and he flinched. "Damn…." Matthew's lips curled as he began to understand.

He still started to evade when Peters voice became decisive and hard.

"Dammit is right, man. What were you thinking? Heyton's only been dead a few days. The news had barely been delivered to his wife when you went to see her. Presumably to take advantage…"

Matthew's head jerked up at that accusation. His eyes narrowed. He started to deny the charge….

Peters would brook no opposition from Matthew. His words became relentless "…in the worst tradition of the army. Taking advantage of a widow. A grieving widow. Pretending to be a concerned fellow officer. This will not go down well."

Matthew's hands started to shake. He bit his lip to keep it from quaking. He pinched his upper lip to try to keep the memories from filtering through his mind. Margaret's soft body under his own. He placing quick kisses up and down her torso.

Oh he was fucked alright. The charge was true. He was guilty.

Would word of his scandal get back to England via the inevitable rumor mill of returning soldiers? To Mary? Through the tasteless words of her press baron husband?

He groaned miserably.

"Is that the story you want to get out? Or you could confess and I'll do my best to be lenient." Peters leaned forward. Tried to talk sense into the younger man.

Matthew tried to defend himself quietly. "I cannot do that." Hoarse with emotion. "It was private between us."

"Simon would not want this for you." Peters said.

"What?" Matthew couldn't believe the adjutant invoked Heyton's name. He gulped and tried to draw breath but none would come. "I loved him like my brother."

"And he would understand if you had to explain." Peters knew that any relationship with Margaret would have been consensual. Out of some misguided grief. He needed Crawley to say something.

Matthew said inflexibly, "I will take whatever punishment you dole out. But I will say nothing."

Peters coldly nodded and dismissed him.

The next day Matthew had his answer. He was to be formally reprimanded. A letter of such put in his record. And there would be no leave awarded and no promotion to major. He would, however, not be cashiered or brought to court martial. Instead he was to report to Arras to take up Heyton's position as machine gun company commander.

Matthew crumpled the letter in his fingers. Dead man's shoes once again. But at least the story would die a natural death in the newspapers. Everyone would move on.

And he would find a way to get back to England. To see Mary. To start to heal their wounded hearts.

XX

Mary paced the library floor at Downton. She had heard through the military grapevine of Matthew's punishment. A slap on the wrist, Robert had called it in disgust.

Mary tried to reason with her father but he was in no mood. He had others things to deal with, they'd talk later. And he left the library.

She continued to pace.

Carson entered to clear away the tea. A desperate shortage of footmen meant he had to do some of the more menial of tasks. But anything for the war effort.

"Lady Mary." He said to the woman wearing a path in the hearth rug.

"Can I ask you a question, Carson? Have you ever felt your life was somehow…slipping away? And there was nothing you could do to stop it?"

"I think everyone feels that at one time or another." He stopped his task.

"Everything seems golden one minute and ashes the next. I find it most unfair. I felt I understood what it was to be happy. Now I know that I won't be." Her gaze drifted off towards the window.

"Don't say that my lady. You're very young still. Don't raise the white flag quite yet." He walked over to be closer.

"I don't feel young. This war has taken its toll on all of us." Mary's arms gripped tight around her waist, a defensive posture.

"You're strong. You'll face whatever crisis with your head high. We're all on your side."

Mary smiled. "Thank you. You've always been so kind to me. When I was a little girl and tried to run away. You let me go, knowing just as well that I'd be back."

"You were always scamping about." He remembered the child's tender kiss on his cheek. She had ever been his favorite. "And you're never down for long."

Mary closes her eyes. Wipes a tear that formed at the corner. "Of course. You know me too well."

"I know you have spirit. That's what counts. It will see you through these difficult times." Carson knew a little of the reasons she married that odious upstart Carlisle. And also knew that she still held affection for the now doubly disgraced heir. "If I may say my lady…."

"Yes?"

"Tell him you still love him, let him know. Then if he's killed—and he may be—you won't be sorry. But if you don't tell him, you could regret it all your life long."

"And what about my husband?" Mary said stiffly, trying to appear as if she cared about him.

Carson scoffs politely. "Sir Richard doesn't deserve you. If I am out of my place, tell me so. But I feel as if there are lingering affections in another direction? Am I wrong to believe that?"

Mary shook her head. "No you are not wrong." So softly he could hardy hear her.

"Then the next time he is on leave. You must take the opportunity. It might not be open to you again." He had lived through many wars. Had seem much grief. He did not want that for Mary.

"I must say I'm glad I am your favourite. You've bucked up my confidence enormously." And she did feel better.

"You'll rally my lady." Carson said. "It's always darkest right before dawn."

He carried the tea tray away. Mary remained quietly in the library. The dawn seemed ever so far away.

XX

_I hope I did my best to explain this sequence of events. Matthew and Mary's lives seem quite distant and apart right now. Please tell me what you think. I know some folks might not feel so warm towards Margaret for example…yet I love her as a character. I tried to make her flesh and blood with real emotions and not just a cardboard figure to be used for plot. Please tell me I did her justice. She might just have one more role to play in bringing our MM back together. Mary will find out more about the scandal in the next chapter. And the affect it has on her will change her and Matthew's life. Will she forgive him? How will they join forces to rid their lives of Carlisle? These are the plot points I'll be taking up next… _


	13. Chapter 13:My Dearest Matthew

**Broodseinde Ridge October 1917—Battle of Passchendaele**

Matthew breathed out and looked down at the pocket watch. The steam of his exhalation combined with the smoke from the cigarette fogged the glass. He wiped it off and brought it closer to his face.

8:35pm. Mason's patrol should have returned two hours ago. He peered up and out in the darkness. No word along the line despite numerous efforts to call and contact trenches further up. Corporal Mason had taken a group of fellow enlisted soldiers to join Lt. Barker's efforts at restringing barbed wire line along the forward trench before the next push the following morning.

Mason had been eager to go out. They had all been cooped up for days in the abandoned house requisitioned by the Army for the machine gun company's use. The rain had been endless. The mud covered everything including the duckboards and catwalks making every step slippery and potentially deadly. One soldier just yesterday had slipped on the muck and drowned in the mud under the weight of all the equipment he carried in his pack.

"Bad luck." Had been the general response. So many dead. Just another. Shrugged and got on with their daily tasks.

So when the sun filtered through the slats of the half broken window frame and a bit of warmth filled the room, Mason said to Matthew, "See Captain, we'll be fine. The weather's clearing." Matthew had not wanted Mason to join the restringing efforts. But there was no recourse really. Orders were orders. Matthew more than most knew that. He simply nodded and squinted to see the sun for himself.

The heat did feel good on his pale skin.

"See you keep yourself safe." The two men walked outside, careful avoid skidding in the sludge built up outside the entrance.

"I'll be glad to get out and doing something. But won't the wire just be blown up again tomorrow morning after the attack begins? What if we fall into it ourselves?" Mason scratched his head and pushed his cap back off his skull.

"You've been taking those logic pills again. This is the Army, Mason. We're 'ere only to obey don't you know." Matthew's bitter cynicism settled on Mason's ears. He had gotten used to it. The Captain had been quite bluey and moody ever since Captain Heyton's death. And the other thing. The near court martial that had been rescinded at the last minute and replaced with a reprimand and the transfer to take over Heyton's company.

Mason knew more than most the circumstances that got Captain Crawley into that predicament. Had known because the Captain had not returned to his rooms for several days after Heyton's death. Had been with him to prepare for his pre-trial hearing with Major Peters. The sleepless nights that had preceded the hearing. The brooding and self flagelating whispers of guilt the Captain muttered to himself. Mason had known Matthew's reasons had been his own for his nights with Heyton's wife. That there was nothing untoward about it. Captain Crawley was just too in love with Lady Mary to permit anything else. So that when the reprieve came, Mason had not been surprised.

Just ready to get on with their next posting.

At least until they had gotten to Broodseinde Ridge and the rain had started.

And never seemed to relent.

But now the sun was shining. And both were in a slightly better mood.

Matthew turned to Mason. "Just see you come back in one piece, eh?" The two grinned and Mason moved off to round up the other soldiers on the patrol.

Matthew returned to his reports. Squeezed his eyelids as the words blurred and got up an hour or so later to make some coffee. The rain had brought a kind of truce to the fighting. Although the guns kept up their regular rounds, all attacks had been postponed. Everyone had used the time to catch up on other work.

Around 5:15 Matthew was done. He stretched and went outside for a smoke. The chill had already replaced the temporary heat. And the wind was coming up alongside an ominous sky meaning more rain on the way.

He sat down in a chair and swung it back against the wall balancing it with his left boot. Rocking back and forth he cupped his hand to protect the flame from the wind and struck the lighter to the end of the cigarette. Let the smoke waft in circles around his head. The guns made their constant background noise to his life. He dozed briefly.

Matthew woke to what sounded like a gun shot. His frayed nerves made him think it was a sniper and he shot up from his seat, eyes alert. He instinctively reached for his pistol.

It was the mail truck backfiring. The trooper at the steering wheel braked and gestured at Matthew. He shook his shoulders in an apology. Matthew waved him off and took the mail bag.

"Don't bother getting out. It's just mud and muck here. I'll give the mail to the clerk."

He walked it over to the small office adjacent to his own and waited as the clerk sorted through it. A letter from Margaret was the only good news in the stack. Matthew put it aside to read later. She was most probably still in Dorchester with Simon's aged parents. She had promised to give Matthew their address.

He would read it later.

For in glancing at the time, he noticed that Lt. Barker had not returned from the restringing patrol and it was getting dark.

Matthew returned to his chair to wait. By 8:45 he was on the phone to the forward trench. The line crackled and popped and it was hard to hear. But he gathered the patrol had completed the restringing and were on their way back one hour previous.

But no one had returned as yet.

XX

"Mama I need to return to London sooner than I expected." Mary said putting down the telegram. "It seems Sir Richard has agreed to a series of concerts and charity events at the townhouse." She rolled her eyes. Obviously there must be something in it for him. Rubbing shoulders with politicians and generals. More revenue and investments for his newspapers. More scandals to be overheard.

"And you are to serve as hostess?" Cora looked over her own letters at morning breakfast. Mrs. Patmore's 'win the war' fish sausages were not settling well in her stomach but she had vowed not to complain. They all had promised to do their bit.

"It is why he married me." Her cruel truth blunt even to her own ears.

"Mary. You've never given it a chance. Is there nothing else between you?"

Cora's words galvanized something in Mary. Something that had been growing and forming over the past two years. Two years of fighting her own war even as she worried about Matthew fighting the one across the channel. One, though, she had believed she could not complain. It would be selfish to do so. Given so many deaths. So many hardships of families' great and ordinary losing loved ones. But she was exhausted. At the end of her patience and her sufferance.

"No." So coldly spoken even Cora could not miss the tone. "There is nothing between us. There will never be anything between us. You of all people Mama must see that."

"But marriage is a very long process, my dear. Maybe it will get better." Cora's attempt to gloss over the circumstances of Mary's consent to the marriage in the first place only made her daughter groan in disgust.

"How can it? I don't love him. As a matter of fact he's gone beyond just getting on my nerves. I despise him. He's using the war for his own profits. He cares only for himself."

"There are no other options Mary. You have to make it work."

"I could divorce him." Mary finally said it. The words she wanted to say for months. It had been nagging on her mind. She had investigated divorce law discreetly. Even going so far as to try to find a lawyer.

Cora gasped. "Divorce? No one's ever divorced in the family."

"I know. We're all told to just live with our troubles." Mary's frayed edges coming out in bursts of anger. "Well I don't know that I can live that way."

"Does he hurt you?" Cora asked.

"Is that your only criteria?" Mary scoffed in utter contempt. Her sharpness unmistakable now. "You're the one who forced me into this marriage. Well I want out."

"It's not possible. Is it?"

"No." Mary returned to her previous state of depression. "You're lucky Mama. You forced me into the one marriage where the one grounds a woman has for divorce is impossible. Richard is as celibate as a monk. He will never take a mistress."

"What do you mean celibate…you mean…" Cora had never been one comfortable enough to speak of issues of sexuality with Mary.

"I mean exactly what I say. I've kept my bedroom separate for over a year now. We had a confrontation over his war profiteering and he's left me alone. As long as I do my duty as hostess we rarely see each other."

She turned towards her mother. "Why do you and papa insist I participate in this charade? We all know why I married. It was to protect the family name from scandal."

"We thought it best for you." Cora said, resigned once again to defend her reasons for the hasty marriage to Carlisle. "For you and …."

Before the words escaped her lips Mary turned on her "If you say for Matthew one more time I will never speak to you again. You know very well you blame him entirely and were only interested in covering up our actions to protect your good name in social circles."

"All for naught it seems as he simply got himself into more trouble as it was." Cora snapped back.

"How dare you." Mary's anger now brimming with venom. "No one has given Matthew the chance, the courtesy of even hearing his side of things. You've convicted him even more than his own commanding officer has done."

"Be that as it may…" Cora tried to calm Mary down. "It's all water under the bridge now. You are married to another. And he…"

"He might be killed and save you all from further scandal. Who knows maybe Patrick will rise from the dead and return telling a tale of amnesia and adventure in Canada?"

"Now you're just being absurd." Cora said with a huff. "I did what I thought best in the circumstance. I am sorry if it has caused you pain. That was not my intention." And she reached out to take Mary's hand.

Mary's anger subsided. She took her mother's proffered hand.

"Yes. So you've told me. And I believed you. And I've held up my end. But now I find that I cannot any further mama. I am stifled and alone."

Cora gathered her daughter in her arms for a hug. "When the war is over…."

"Oh Mama. I know you mean well. But aren't all of us stuck with the choices we make? I am stuck in this loveless marriage. I see no way out of it."

XX

Mary's return to London was very quiet. Richard had left for Paris and a series of meetings generals and French government officials.

She breathed a sigh of relief. At least she could prepare for these charity officer gatherings without Richard's critical and hovering eye.

Anna met her in the dining room. She had stayed behind as Mary's most recent trip to Downton had been brief. And it allowed her to catch up on housekeeping. Her dual role as lady's maid and chatelaine was a taxing job but one Anna took very seriously.

"My lady." Anna handed Mary a series of messages. "Someone has been calling several times inquiring about you. She wishes to meet you at Claridge's upon your return to London."

Mary took the messages and read them. She look up, startled at Anna. "Mrs. Heyton? She's rung more than once?"

"Yes." Anna knew the information was such that Mary would make an immediate decision. "She is traveling back to Dorchester in a few days, but wishes if you have the time to return her call and set up a luncheon."

Mary swallowed. "I see. Is there any reason that cannot be today?"

"I'll call her hotel and make the reservation." Anna left the room quickly. Mary was already getting up from the table and moving towards the stairs and her bedroom.

An hour later she was out the door. Anna saw her to the cab. Noted that Mary's hands were shaking as she opened the door but straightened her back and entered with a curt nod to the driver.

Anna closed the door. Knowing she'd hear all about it later as she brushed her mistress's hair and prepared the bed.

Mary arrived at Claridge's at the appointed time. In time for afternoon tea. She was guided by the head waiter to the table of Mrs. Heyton. Mary was not sure why her imaginings of Margaret Heyton held so little truth. Her idea had been this woman was probably very young, very sweet in a girlish sort of way, and had played on Matthew's sympathy and his kindness to get him into her bed. That she probably did not love her husband and was already in search of a replacement. These ideas had planted themselves in Mary's brain and set her against Margaret from the outset. That she had used Matthew. And that in his grief, in his loneliness he had succumbed.

Well nothing of sort here, Mary chided herself. The self-assured, well-spoken and intelligent woman who greeted her was nothing of Mary's conception. Indeed, Mary rather acutely and wryly observed, she was very much like herself.

Which made even more sense as to Matthew's behavior. Mary's heart sunk into her chest. Had Matthew fallen madly in love with his friend's wife? Had he forgotten her completely? He should be angry at all members of her family. They had, in all respects abandoned him to his fate. Mary hated herself for it. But with Carlisle searching her mail and his spies seemingly everywhere she had never felt safe for herself or Matthew to write or correspond with him in any way.

"I'm so very pleased you agreed to meet me." Margaret said, gesturing for Mary to take the seat opposite. "I will be in town only a day or so longer and I…I felt it necessary to make contact."

Mary looked over at Margaret. She was older than Mary. Not by much, but a few years. And so very pretty.

"Indeed?" Mary did not really know what to say.

"I know this is uncomfortable. I won't take up too much of you time and you really have gone out of your way and …" And here Margaret looked kindly at Mary. "I do know you are at the disadvantage. You know very little about me and yet I feel as if I've known you a very long time. Matthew spoke of you to me many times."

Mary had no words for that. Matthew speaking to his lover about herself? What had gotten into him? "I am afraid I know only what the newspapers and my husband tells me of you and your relationship to my cousin. He was almost court martialed because of it."

Margaret refused to take this bait. She knew it came from a place of frustration in Mary. Not anger or scorn. "This is coming out all wrong and I deeply apologize for my bluntness but the war had brought us to these circumstances. And I think it very unlikely we shall ever be friends. I do have things I must say to you. Woman to woman. If you look past the awkwardness of this meeting you can very much help save the life of the man you love."

"How do you know that?" Mary felt at sea. To be talked to as an equal rather than as someone's wife or daughter, she simply had no experience of that. Could she be as blunt? Could she finally be honest about her feelings? "I have not seen Matthew for several years. We had a falling out. My life took a very different direction and I cannot be in contact with him."

"I see." Margaret replied. "That is the one area Matthew has refused to discuss with anyone. But I do know he is still very much in love with you. And that love is reciprocated in your own eyes. You are on guard, as you should be. But I know love. I love my husband. I love him now as much as I did when he was alive."

"And yet you slept with another man within days of his death?" the words out of Mary's mouth before she could recall them.

Margaret's eyes twitched slightly. "That true. And I deserve that direct response. But I will leave it to Matthew to explain the events that found us in those circumstances. I know he would want to tell you himself. I can say it has nothing to do with his profound love for you. Love I can say that has not dimmed with time or condition."

Mary's eyes lowered over her cup of tea to gather her strength. Then raised them to meet Margaret's. "Go on then."

"I am very concerned about Matthew's mental state. You should know that the war has taken quite a toll on his sanity."

Mary's hands shook and she dropped her cup of tea. A waiter rushed over to clean it up giving her time to recover. "Why are you telling me this?" She managed to voice.

"I know all of this comes as a shock. But I am very afraid he will do something rash. Something that will get himself killed. He no longer cares. He feels he has nothing to live for." Margaret soft speech tone belied her urgency. She needed Mary to hear her.

"And what am I to do?" Mary said. "I am unable to help him."

"I want to urge you to write to him. He needs to be rescued from his grief and his disillusionment. You are his lifeboat."

Mary's lips quivered. "Lifeboat…."

"Yes. Please Lady Mary. I know we all want things to be different. To be as they were before the war. But they are not. They never will be again. The Matthew you knew is gone. But the man who is fighting in France for his country, is also fighting for his life. He needs you more than ever."

"How can I? My husband would find out? He's threatened me before…." She remembered the time Carlisle had gripped her wrist and told her she was bound to him now and to forget her golden haired lover or he would see her family ruined.

"I will send it for you." Margaret explained. "Write to him now. I will take it with me and put it in an envelope addressed in my hand. No one will see. No one will know but Matthew."

Mary smiled for the first time since walking into the tea room. "You would do that for me? For us?"

"Yes. Matthew is very special to me. You are the other half to him. He cannot live anymore without you back in his life."

"I will do it." Mary's eyes sparkled with intensity. She had no idea what words she would put on the paper, but the opportunity was one not to be missed. "Let me go to the gift shoppe and get some stationery."

XX  
Matthew had finally gotten word, two hours later at 11:30pm and ten cigarettes encircling his chair outside, that Mason was safe along with the others at a hospital station some miles away.

But that he was seriously injured. They had fallen into an unseen pit as some duckboards gave way. Fallen and the poison gas from a few days earlier had settled at the bottom. Without gas masks they had breathed it in and asphyxiated until stumbling out.

And worse it turned out.

Mason had taken it bad and his eyes had become fogged and blinded from the phosgene gas. They had bandaged him up, stopped his retching, and slowed his racing pulse while giving him some medication for the pain. Only time would tell how much damage to his retina and cornea the gas had done.

Matthew was to see him tomorrow.

The electrics were out again so the only light was the lantern sitting on a side table. He flung himself on the cot. Exhausted but unable to sleep. Damn, fucking war he muttered. Looked around for the teapot to make something hot when his eyes fell upon the letter from Margaret.

Anything to distract himself he opened it. He ripped the edge and turned it upside down. Another letter, still sealed, fell out. Confused, Matthew picked it up off the floor where it had fallen and opened it as well.

He recognized the hand instantly. His body, his fingers, his hands all shook as he greedily took in the contents of the missive. He leaned in closer to the lantern for best light in the darkness.

_Dearest Matthew,_

_I have taken the opportunity to write to you as Margaret Heyton has paid me a visit and encouraged me to do so. She has promised to deliver this in total secrecy and I must ask that under no circumstances are you to respond. I think you know the reason why I cannot have any letters from you delivered to me through the mail. Margaret is to return to Dorchester and she can only deliver this one letter. _

_Therefore it must remain in this one piece of correspondence to say all that must be said. Said finally by me to you. I love you. I love you still and always. My marriage as you must know in your heart is a sham. An arrangement made between my husband and parents having to do with the circumstances of our last time together. Although they do not know the whole story, and neither dearest Matthew do you—I will tell you all when conditions warrant it, Richard told them you had forced yourself on me and as a result shamed my father into forcing a suitable marriage upon me as quick as possible to avoid any hint of scandal or ruin. I believe they had my best interests at heart, and I was too weak in mind and spirit to refuse. I have regretted that weakness every minute of every day since._

_This all must change. I don't know how but I can no longer live this lie. So I must tell you everything. I worry about you constantly. The dangers you are in. The battles you have fought. Your leg injury. The incident at Berles with Margaret I don't fully understand either—but I trust you. And I believe Margaret, a wonderful woman whose kindness I will never forget, is being truthful with me when she says you feel the same about me. Our love must sustain us through these times. _

_Please know that I think of you always. _

_Your __Mary_

In the darkness of the night, the guns still hammering in the distance, Matthew felt his first burst of hope. Mary wrote to him. Mary loved him. Mary forgave him.

Tears he didn't even know he was shedding dripped down the sheet, threatening to smear her words. He very carefully dried the letter off with his handkerchief. This was as the holy grail. It must be protected from all harm. He folded and placed it inside the billfold alongside Mary's picture. His lucky charm.

His Mary.

She would see him through these dark times.

And he would see her safe away from Richard Carlisle. He did not know yet now how… but he would move heaven and earth to return her to his arms.

When the guns stopped. When the war was over.

Whenever the hell that was going to be….

XX

_Please tell me all you think about this story! I love hearing from you!... Mary's charity hosting will find an unexpected visitor among the officers attending next chapter… _


	14. Chapter 14: Epiphany

_Epiphany—a joyful moment of revelation and insight. _

XX

Matthew's eyelids drooped. In the backseat of the Model T Touring car with four other officers whose voices blended into a low monotonal drone, he was lulled into a pleasant half slumber only punctuated by a roar of laughter as they exchanged off colour jokes at the Kaiser's expense. He wriggled deeper into the leather seat. Pulled his dress cap over his eyes. Tried to ignore them.

Then they started to sing….

_Kaiser Bill is feeling ill,_

_The Crown Prince he's gone barmy._

_We don't give a fuck for old von Kluck_

_And all his bleedin' army._

He grunted dimly and mumbled a "That'll do." The young lieutenant sitting next to him said, "Sorry sir, just blowing some steam off."

Major Matthew Crawley knew that well enough. "Yes Lt. Davies," he responded quite dryly, "but next time please do me the favour of doing it in tune."

They were all rather pleased. Out of the war for a bit. Even if was on a patriotic 'win the war' tour that made them all feel hypocrites. Matthew foreswore any lying about conditions or the excitement of battle. He'd do his duty on this assignment but no more. It was, as he well knew, part of his reintegration back into the good graces of the regiment. Or rather his humbling reminder of his obligations towards king and country. And grateful his conduct unbecoming did not have him cashiered and sent as a private into the muck splattered hell that was Passchendaele Ridge.

For all that he still felt the prodigal son. His Colonel, James Whitehead, a clever and canny officer that Matthew had come to deeply respect in his time as second in command of the machine gun company in the Arras quarter, never mentioned Matthew's ignominy. But he knew the Colonel's eyes were upon him. Judging him. Searching for any weakness. The only time they had a falling out was immediately before Matthew's transfer as ADC to General Wagg's entourage that was to tour England for two months. Whitehead had been unaware that Wagg explicitly asked for Captain Crawley to accompany him. When Whitehead initially refused, saying he was short of good officers, Wagg had interjected brusquely "Get him leave and give him a promotion."

Colonel Whitehead, in turn, confronted Matthew with "It seems General Wagg asked for you specifically. I expect a direct answer to this Crawley. Why?" Whitehead demanded "I do not like being caught off guard."

"Sir?" Matthew responded, a bit muddled headed. He had been called in from battery training. The rat-a-tat pulses of the Bergmann MP18 submachine guns still rung in his ears.

"Brigadier General Wagg wants you as his ADC. Is there some connection, some piece of your life's puzzle I'm missing? Why you?" Whitehead asked again. This time he leaned down and probed Matthew's eyes as they shifted back and forth nervously.

Matthew needed to pull himself together. He shook his head and straightened in the hardback chair. He responded slowly, "I would hazard the guess that, although I am not his son, I am the heir presumptive to the Earl of Grantham."

Whitehead's eyes grew large. "A peer of the realm?" He thought Crawley was a lawyer from Manchester.

"Erm… yes." Matthew squeezed his forehead.

"And you never divulged this." Whitehead said, incredulous. So many of his Crawley's fellow officers regularly used their aristocratic connections to get special treatment for extended leave or lighter duties. Others, claiming they were the sole heir had been allowed to leave front line duty altogether. Crawley had done neither.

"No one specifically asked me." Matthew realized that probably sounded fatuous. So he tried again. "Quite frankly Lord Grantham and I are not on the best of terms of late."

Whitehead suddenly understood why there was so much chatter around Crawley's recent disgrace. He had only been transferred to France from Gallipoli in the summer of 1917 and so had not been privy to all the insider gossip. All he knew was that Crawley had been admonished for conduct unbecoming but otherwise had an unblemished record. And a Military Cross to attest to his nerve.

"I did not want any special treatment." Matthew finished, knowing this reason was equally lame, even if it was the truth.

The colonel's response came with a chuckle and a clap on Crawley's shoulder, "Well Major Crawley, now you have it." He turned back towards his desk. "Go enjoy it."

So within a week he found himself in London. Organizing tours and accompanying the general and the others to various social functions.

All in all he was in good spirits.

Especially after Mary's letter. He had memorized it. Cherished it. Protected it from the endless mud and rain. But had not responded per her instructions. He longed to, but knew full well the consequences of his response getting into the hands of her husband.

He was grateful this trip of General Wagg's ended up not venturing any further than Buckinghamshire. He did not relish having to accompany the brigadier to York and an awkward encounter with Robert in his capacity as honorary Colonel of the North Riding regiment. Most of their time was to be spent in London. Wagg, it became clear to Matthew, wanted to be near the center of things. Not sent off to the hinterlands of the north.

His own interest in the London visit was peaked at St. Dunstan's Hostel for Soldiers and Sailors Blinded in the War. The tour was informative for more reasons than just the usual. For it was here, he realized, Mason should be invalided once discharged. The grounds in Regents Park could accommodate large numbers of soldiers on the seventeen acre property. It was just the place as it had rehabilitation facilities and work training programs.

Matthew had visited Mason at the 2nd London General Hospital. Mason, maintaining his usual mien of cheerful high spirits, greeting Matthew warmly. "Good afternoon sir," William said, one eye still bandaged while the other was opaque. "It's not as bad as it looks." But Matthew could tell it was a bluff. But one he went along with.

"How are they treating you Mason?" Matthew took a seat near the cot.

"Well enough. Good food." William inched a bit up in the bed. Matthew helped him pull a pillow behind his back.

"Good to hear it." Matthew said. "I'm rather at a loss without you. I have to go to Kensington with a reassigned soldier servant who can't tell his boots from brass buttons."

Mason grinned. "Well you'll just have to manage. I seem to be otherwise engaged."

Matthew ended the visit reading some letters from Mason's father. William Mason, Sr. sent letters it seemed nearly every day and his son had not had anyone read the last ones received. Matthew read the chatty missives about life on the Darnley estate farm, the crops, and the new litter of pigs. How he looked forward to William's return.

Matthew looked up at that. "You're going back home?"

"I suppose. Not much else for me, is there sir?" He shrugged. "Dad can find a use for me."

Matthew grimaced. He hated to see Mason like this. He had stood by him in battle, had played the piano in that burnt out shell of a chateau, and had refused to be transferred to another officer during his period of disgrace.

And Matthew had promised to see him safely through. "You don't want to return to Downton? Isn't there someone who will miss you?" Matthew knew that Mason had a sweetheart in the kitchen maid Daisy. "I see some letters from her as well. Do you want me to read those?"

"No." The word sharp on Mason's usually friendly tongue. Matthew understood and put them aside.

"Have you told her?" Matthew asked in a gentle tone.

Mason squirmed. "She won't want me now. I …I would never be a burden on anyone."

"You don't know that." Matthew said.

"Good of you to say sir, but it's a half a life at best." Mason replied. "Turns out it was a good idea to wait. Think if we'd married at the outset. I'd never be able to provide for a family now." He twisted in the sheets. "It's best if I return home."

"You don't know that it will be permanent." Matthew tried his best. "I've…I've read of some accounts of recovery."

"They give my right eye 50/50 at best. The left is gone for good."

Matthew's eyes were downcast. "Look, I don't want to appear as interfering. But you know that Downton is a convalescent home now. I really think you'd be more comfortable there. Amidst familiar surroundings. And familiar faces. I think you might be doing Daisy an injustice. Give her a chance."

Mason heard the hitch in the major's throat. He leaned forward slightly.

Matthew continued, "If this blasted war has taught us anything it's that life is precious. And happiness. Give her a chance."

Mason slowly nodded. "Yes sir. I see your point. But I think I'm being sent to Leeds General Infirmary."

"Why's that?" Matthew asked.

"Downton's only for officers. Military orders are I go to Leeds."

Matthew rolled his eyes. Of course it was officers only. "Let me see what I can do. Downton is closer for your father isn't it? And you're his only living relative right?"

William nodded glumly. "Much good I'll do now."

"I'll no more of that soldier." Matthew said crisply. "As a hardship case and as you have connections of work and family in York, I think we can swing a transfer. I'll come and see you again soon before I return to France. Tell you then what I've learned."

"Thank you sir." William struck out his hand to take Matthew's. The two shook on it.

Matthew ended up ringing his mother who had returned to Crawley House after her stint in the Red Cross. She had written saying she had taken up Cousin Violet's offer to help out at the Downton Village Hospital as both were still on the Board along with Dr. Clarkson. That required her to visit Downton frequently.

"Mother. I would like a favour. Could you ask Cousin Violet to inquire as to how to transfer William Mason to Downton for his convalescence?"

"Mason?" Isobel asked.

"My soldier servant. You remember William. He was footman before the war. He's was gas blinded at Passchendaele."

"Oh yes. Quiet, polite young man. Horrible for him. I don't know that they make exceptions for enlisted men who were employees but we can but try."

"I knew you would."

"You know I like to challenge the order of things." Her voice laughed. "And so does the Dowager Countess. So I think you can rest assured we will get this young man transferred."

"Good. After his convalescence I'm going to try to get him into this St. Dunstan's. It's a rehabilitation hostel. Teach skills and daily tasks. I think it's a good fit for him."

Isobel loved her son dearly. Loved his compassion especially. "I wish we could get you somewhere safely tucked away until the end." She knew he'd say otherwise.

"You know I have to go back. But we'll have tea at Claridge's shall we? I'm in London for the next several weeks. Can you get down here?"

"I thought you said your tour would take you to York?" She inquired.

"Yes, that was the initial plan. But he informed us adjutants that the tour has been cut in half as the big push in France is on and he's required back soon than expected. I suspect that he doesn't want the Americans to take all the glory." Matthew's voice snorted. Wagg was a good enough officer, but to Matthew's mind more interested in the history book's view of him rather than being of true value to the troops.

"Then I will see you in London. Mary is back in Eaton Square. She left her latest visit to Downton a few days ago." Isobel tried to drop this information casually.

"I very much doubt our paths will cross." His voice caught and he coughed. "I really don't want to see her. Not if she's with Carlisle."

What he did not divulge to his mother was that he did not want to add any more gossip to what London already buzzed about him.

In addition to the London set that remembered him from the seasons before the war, especially Sybil's friends who hung on his arm and wanted him to dance, he noticed others who were less than kind.

Carlisle's papers had done a hatchet job on his reputation during his minor scandal. And that even now it's blown over, he found that his name was whispered in hushed corners of rooms as fingers pointed him out to others who turned to look at the cad named in the sullying of the reputation of a fellow officer's widow. Usually followed either by muted giggles as they recounted his sexual conquest or by daggered, judgmental eyes of righteous morality.

He ignored it all. And by and large once the initial identifying was over, Matthew could circulate with a recipe of guarded diplomacy and natural charm. It was, after all, why General Wagg wanted him on this trip. And his supposed connections to the aristocracy. He managed to pass that muster by introducing the Brigadier to Lord Flintshire of Duneagle who promised the general good shooting opportunities once the war was over. At that same party Flintshire took Matthew aside and said that he had pulled the requisite strings to get an ambulance to take Mason back to Downton for convalescence.

Matthew acknowledged that with gratitude.

Right now they were in the last week of a tour of various charity endeavours. During the day they would tour the Red Cross facility, the private hospital, or the enlisted man's canteen and every evening show up for an exclusive party that required a few, preferably not too badly wounded, officers to show up in order to get the big donors to cough up money for the good charitable cause.

They were currently making their way around the environs of London. Westminster, Knightsbridge, Belgravia - they had all become a blur of the same to Matthew. He and the other adjutants knew the drill. Greet the hosts and mingle among the assorted gentry and aristocratic types who inevitably wanted to show their faces at these functions. While the newly commissioned officers—you could tell which ones they were—the ones who did not have that dead look in their eyes, were driven to impress the veterans with their enthusiasm. Which meant they did the bulk of the glad handing and Matthew was disinclined to blunt their eagerness.

So this night was another in the tour of notable London neighborhoods. Matthew had stopped asking the wheres and the times. He simply got into the car at the appointed time and arrived at some white terraced residence.

They all began to blur after a while. The car stopped, the men got out. They all looked the same.

Matthew walked up the steps of the townhouse. He chatted with young Ellison on the protocol of greeting the Bishop of London who was in attendance.

"Just don't tell him we think all his jingoist bluster is bollocks." Matthew spoke only half joking. Bishops had been added to list of people whose views of the war made the men in the trenches half mad with anger.

All the officers stopped in the entry way to remove hats and great coats. Matthew, getting dragged into another conversation with Davies on how much drink they were allowed, loitered in the back. He waited for the others to finish and so was half hidden from view when he heard her.

"Good evening gentlemen. I am Lady Mary Carlisle…"

Her voice echoed faint in his brain. Gravity root him to the spot. He could not move. His hat crushed beneath his cold fingers. Time slowed and he only half consciously was aware of the still of conversation around him. He must have audibly gasped as the others turned towards him. As if he was in the dock, a verdict of guilty from the jury making everyone stare in his direction.

And so he was. Guilty. His face could not hide it. A man, long thought dead inside from the waste of war, suddenly revived. Returned to the living. What was it Dicken's said, "Recalled to life" after being shut away in prison. A prison of his own mind in this case. A mind grief stricken and tired. Tired of death. Tired of the mud. Drained of life.

Now, hearing her voice, he felt his heart beat. As if it was coming out of his chest. Was that why everyone turned? Could they hear it too?

He was guilty of loving her. And in that moment, he could hide it no longer.

Matthew's head came up and he stared openly into Mary's eyes. Willing her to turn in his direction.

He knew she saw him when her smooth voice seized on her well-practiced words. So slight. So almost imperceptible except for how it ruined her perfect diction. Her eyes fell over the crowd of officers to the man who seemed to stand just a bit taller than the rest.

It lasted only a moment. Her slip. Her glance.

Their eyes gave them away. As it ever did.

But then she looked away. And continued her welcome as if nothing had happened. Her arms swept open the doors to the room beyond where cocktails and hors d'oeuvres beckoned. She followed the officers in and did not look back. He heard Carlisle's voice asking for Mary to join him in greeting the Bishop.

She had steeled her mind against him, Matthew thought. Her mask was back in place. He understood and accepted it.

But he could not join them. Not now. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts. So he turned in the hall towards the rear of the town house. Slipped in another door and found exactly what he thought he would find. The butler's pantry and the store of glasses and bottles held ready to go by the servants to fill the glasses of the people in the room beyond. For once his knowledge of Grantham House and the ways of the household came in handy.

He grabbed a glass and a bottle of whisky. The amount of alcohol shocked Matthew. Obviously Carlisle hoarded the liquor, probably bought on the black market as well.

He left the pantry and opened the door across the corridor.

The library, he realized. Excellent. And moved towards the leather chair tucked in a corner near the roaring fire. It was late November and the chill was noticeable.

Matthew's hand trembled a bit as he poured the whisky into the glass. But the burning felt good going down his throat. He threw his head back against the seat and leaned into the left side of the wingback.

He intended to stay there and nurse a well-earned inebriation. He had done his duty these past few weeks without complaint. There was no way he would walk into that room with Carlisle. He did not trust his tongue from keeping quiet. He rather believed that it would end in in some kind of undignified fisticuffs should he be forced to make small talk.

He loathed the man. Mary's letter indicated she wanted out of the marriage. That it was made against her will. Did Carlisle have to force himself on her? Matthew hated himself at that moment. His lust in the dark of that December night two years ago caused all this. He blamed himself entirely. Somehow Carlisle found out. Threatened scandal. And so to protect him…HIM!... and her family from ruin, she trapped herself in this loveless marriage.

He poured another glass and sunk deeper into his melancholy. The horrible irony of it all was that in the end Matthew had made his own scandal. And Mary paid a price for that as well. Having to read about it in Carlisle's scandal sheets.

He did not deserve her love. But he swore he'd find a way to get her away from Carlisle. Even if they would never be together.

One more glass and Matthew was out. Like a light, he fell into a deep slumber.

The rush of a gust of cold air woke him. His mouth felt dry. The glass had slipped from his fingers and had fallen on the carpet. He put his hand up to his eyes and rubbed vigorously. He needed to wake up. They were probably all about to go. A voice was heard saying to him "Major? Major Crawley are you in here?" The door closed.

The shaft of light made by the open door had him turn in that direction. But he was distracted by the woman sitting next to the fire.

Mary. Her dress was a favorite of his from before the war. Crimson red cut deep with a long strand of pearls that ran down the back of the gown.

How long had she been there? Watching him sleep. Her eyes, kind and loving, never left his face.

He stayed in the chair. Returned her look with one equal and full of love.

The silence was healing.

They did not have to speak.

How long was it? Matthew lost track. She was so serene. So beautiful. She was taking a risk just being there. What if Carlisle had walked in on them?

"Crawley? Where the blazes are you, man?" The annoyed voice from out in the hall called out. Captain Bassett was next in command after Matthew. He wanted to go back to barracks.

Matthew eased himself out of the chair. The whisky swam around in his skull. He was a bit dizzy. Was it the drink? Or Mary? Drunk on love? He makes himself turn away from her. Towards the door.

But at the last moment he could not leave without one more look. She had not moved from the edge of the fireplace. He goes over. He cannot leave without some gesture of good-bye. What if he was killed? What if he never had another chance to see her again?

His body leaned down. He held out his hands towards hers. To interlock their fingers together. Entwine them. Bind them.

Her face turned upward to meet his. His lips brushed her forehead. He smelled her scent as his face nuzzled into her hair.

The heat of his breath made her shiver. She was about to speak when he put his finger to her lips. And shook his head. No words. Neither had time for the conversation they needed to have. And any talk might draw unwanted attention.

She nodded. Felt his finger slip away from her lips. Her lips parted in anticipation.

He leaned down further and kissed her. He could really have not done otherwise. A kiss to see them through the darkness to come.

Mary touched his cheek. He pulled away.

Matthew smiled. He returned to a standing posture and, without a word, left the room. He had to leave now. If he stayed he be a lost man. She was not his to stay.

He walked down the corridor only to see Anna handing their coats and caps to all the officers at the door as they left. When they got to him, she smiled. "Hello Major Crawley." Her voice was warm and friendly.

Matthew accepted the coat. "Thank you Anna. It's very good to see you again. You are well?"

"Yes, very well." Anna handed him the cap. He put in on his head and spoke again, "Take care of her. Keep her safe."

"I do. I will." Anna replied. "We all want to see you safely returned to us as well."

Matthew's lips parted in a slight smile. He nodded and shut the door behind him.

The last thing he heard was Carlisle's voice in the hall way asking Anna where his wife was as he could not find Mary anywhere.

Too close for comfort that, Matthew realized. They had managed to slip past Carlisle's grasp and have a moment of privacy all to themselves.

They deserved that much at least. That much and so much more.

He turned towards the open door of the Model T. The warmth of her skin, her lips still lingering in his memory.

XX  
_I've had those images of Matthew and Mary in this chapter in my head for over two years. Ever since I dreamt up the ideas for this fan fic. I hope I've done it a bit of justice. The story moves on… next chapter will be Mary's reaction to seeing Matthew again. And how that meeting will refocus her strength of will against any who want her to stay in this marriage of convenience._


	15. Chapter 15: What's Worth Fighting For?

_**Ch 16: The Christmas Tryst**__: This is my (I'm haslemere on tumblr) submission to __Hufflepuffhermione __for the 2015 Secret Santa on tumblr. It also marks the one year anniversary for this story!_

_Mary and Matthew snatch time together on Christmas Eve 1917 to answer some hard truths, reveal a painful secret, plot strategies to remove a certain someone from Mary's life, and renew their vows of love and trust._

XX

Anna walked briskly towards the front door of the small hotel. She had an urgent message to deliver to Major Crawley. The snow fell hard against her cheek. It was going to be a white Christmas after all.

"Is Major Matthew Crawley in?" She asked at the front desk.

"Who wants to know?" The young clerk responded. She had been told not to let anyone see the officers. Especially young women.

"I don't need to see him for long. Just to pass along a message." Anna responded. "But I need to give it to him by hand. Could he come down?"

"I'll just see."

A few minutes later Matthew bound down the steps, curious to see who summoned him.

"Anna?" He was happy to see her. Any connection to Mary.

Anna walked closer to him as he approached the bottom stair. She leaned in, "I was told to hand this to you. To make sure you get it." And she finally released the missive from her hand to his now trembling fingers.

His eyes. So sapphirian blue. Yet shaded. Wounded. Anna would remember his eyes. When she handed Mary's note to him. They were excited. Wary. Hopeful. Cheered. A lifeline to a drowned man. Mindful of past hurts he caused. Circumspect to committing them again in the future.

He clutched the note. It crumpled in his grasp.

"Am I...are you." He started. "Are you to wait for an answer?"

"No." Anna said. "It's self-explanatory. You'll understand when you read it." And she took Matthew's hand for just a second. "Sir Richard is away in Paris. The staff has been given the evening off."

Matthew's breath came shallow and hard. The immensity of the moment enveloping him in a kind of paralysis.

"Right." So hoarse, so quiet Anna wasn't sure she heard him. He believed it a dream. He was to wake up and find himself back in the trenches. Dripping wet from the rain and muck.

"She'll be expecting you around 9pm." Anna's no-nonsense practicality reasserted itself. She needed him to understand they were to be entirely discrete. "Use the service entrance."

His eyes suddenly aware of the implications of those instructions, flashed bright. "I'll be there."

Anna nodded and left. She left him open mouthed, stunned. Just with a glimpse of perceiving that this was the beginning of the rest of his life.

Sometimes she loved her job.

XX

Mary fidgeted with the place setting on the small table set up in her sitting room. The room adjacent to her bedroom. Upstairs in the townhouse she shared with Richard.

Where she had invited Matthew to visit. Alone. Her husband away.

In the eyes of society, in the law she had already committed adultery. Just by letting a man into her home. The note inviting him being proof. The letter previously sent declaring her love for the same man damning them both. Legally binding. Richard would see her disgraced if he knew she had written them. Had sent them to him.

She no longer cared.

A strength brewing within her. A strength born of pain. Of endurance. Of love denied.

And now regained. In the library the night he surprised her, asleep by the fire.

He had kissed her. She had returned his kiss.

They had sealed their fate in that moment.

Yet…

His mental state was fragile Margaret had said.

This might break him. But she'd have to chance it.

He deserved the truth.

As did she. Margaret knew him so intimately and so well. How far did that intimacy extend? Mary knew it encompassed physical intimacy. And although the rational part of her understood the complexity of that, she was still viscerally jealous that another woman had touched him. Had been satisfied by him the way she had been. Was it the same? Did Matthew love her? Margaret had replaced Mary as Matthew's confidante. Did he tell Margaret about her? Was his past an open book to this woman she barely knew?

There was so much to talk about with him.

She had seized the moment. Richard announcing he had achieved an interview with some arms manufacturer in Paris. His abrupt leave taking. She was to go to Downton for Christmas as pre-arranged. The London house closed until the New Year, the staff given time off with half-pay. She would have given more, but Richard insisted on the economy.

Mary privately gave them all a holiday bonus as soon as her husband vacated the premises.

Then the plan for the evening fell into place. She wrote the note to Matthew specifying that he arrive late and by the rear entrance. For his discretion as well as hers. Anna left to deliver it.

She prepared for the evening. A simple meal of coffee and sandwiches had been arranged by Anna to be sent up to Mary's sitting room.

Anna looked at Mary with trepidation when she announced the meal would be upstairs. But Mary eyes brooked no opposition. This was not to be a meeting following society's rules. It was not to be in the open. In the formal dining room. There was to be no Rosamund or another relation to chaperone her visit with a single man.

But intimate. Private. Befitting the fact that Mary and Matthew were beyond convention. Their love had a sanctity of its own.

She certainly felt that way. She wanted to know if he felt the same.

Mary carefully chose her wardrobe along the same lines of thought. The midnight blue nightdress and lined silk robe were her favorites. Anna kept her hair down, loose around her shoulders.

Matthew would be in no doubt. She wanted to appear to him as a lover. For lovers they had been. And that intimacy had led to the very reason she needed to talk with him this very night.

She would not have him go back to hell without her telling him about their child.

This night. The Christmas that would change their lives.

XX

Matthew placed his service cap on his head. He was just about ready to go. The snow was falling hard but it was supposed to stop. Somehow, in London, the snow that would have caused him chilblains and a fever in the trenches now made the atmosphere that much more festive.

Or perhaps it was just his mood. Giddy he was. Which would have been impossible for him to believe just yesterday. He thought he had the one moment with Mary. And that would sustain him. It was going to have to.

But now. Now they were to have a whole evening. On Christmas Eve of all times of the year.

He was going to have to be careful. The Army Field Manual danced in front of his eyes rather than sugar plums. The section on cashiering in particular. Broken in rank to private. Utter and complete humiliation.

The punishment he was sure to suffer if caught a second time with a married woman.

But there was not an ounce within him to deny this opportunity of time alone with Mary. He would just have to leave and return to his billet after they spent time together. After he had time to explain to her about what happened with Margaret. After they cleared the air about the confusion surrounding their own night together two years previous.

He seemed to making a habit of this, he mused as he put on his great coat. Something he had not ever intended. He cared about both women. About their reputations as well. He would take Mary's advice and enter via the back service entrance. He would be back in his rooms before anyone noticed him gone.

It had to be this way.

He flicked the collar up. The snow was falling hard.

Out in the snow he walked as fast as he could towards Eaton Square. He did not want to lose any more time. Glancing around, he took the corner and opened the gate. Knocked at the door.

Anna let him in.

The rush of warm air flushed his cheeks red. "Hello Anna. I'm not too early right?"

"No sir. Right on time." She took his coat and hat. "Lady Mary's upstairs. I'll show you the way."

Matthew felt a delightful set of butterflies settle in his stomach as he followed Anna into the servant's staircase to the second landing. Anna opened the green baize door. Pointed and said, "Second door on the left." Matthew started to exit. His eyes turned suddenly tentative. They darted left and right. Was this the right thing?

"You're a good man, Major Crawley." Anna impulsively gripped his arm. "Be good to her. She's chancing a great deal."

This night was not just about his own guilt. His own need to apologize.

Mary's actions risked all for him. Her reputation. Her marriage. Her well-guarded privacy.

"I'll take care." He responded sensitively, an invocation. A promise.

"See you do." Only then did Anna release him out the door.

He made his way to Mary's door. He rapped softly on the oak panel.

A quiet "Come in" greeted his knock. It was confident. So singularly Mary. The first words he had heard from her in two years. And they were for his ears alone.

He walked inside.

The room was fire lit. Mary was in silhouette contrasting light and dark.

He took in her beauty with hungry, yet respectful eyes.

She motioned him towards her. He drew near.

Seated on the settee, she had poured him some coffee. Something to do with her hands while she waited for him.

Mary's eyes never left his for a second as he walked the last steps and took the seat next to hers. He was so gaunt. So careworn. A skin and bones version of the man she once knew.

She resisted the urge to throw her arms out to embrace him in her warmth and her love.

Instead she remained still. Waiting his first move.

"Hello my darling." The endearment spilling forth from his lips before he could think. Did he have the right to call her such?

His eyes searched hers for reproof. A chastisement for assuming too much. He saw nothing but love. Love he didn't think he deserved.

"Matthew." All her prayers to keep him safe now true. She had no room in her heart for accusation.

They embraced. He felt his cheek glide against her neck. Breathed in her scent, her being. She felt his tremble, his hesitation.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked.

A slender, inviting smile traced her mouth. She gave her assent with a nod. He kneeled down and met her lips in a loving, intimate kiss. He drew back. Both shuddered and felt the pull to do even more.

"Mary…." Matthew's voice, rough and guttural. Needy.

"You can kiss me," She said, staying his hand and reasserting command over the situation. "But that is all. We have much to talk about."

That was his Mary. He laughed lightly and leaned back into the settee, feeling calmer than he had any right to be. Just being in her presence healed him.

He turned to see her eyes again. Those deep pools of chestnut brown that he could finally behold in person rather than in the flitting daydreams of his mind.

And in her steadfast gaze, underneath where she tried to hide it, he did see trepidation. A wariness he had brought into those eyes.

"Oh God Mary." He would do anything to remove that look of pain. "I am so so sorry. Do you know how sorry I am?" His voice still hoarse and dark, now with agony and shame.

He took her hand in his.

She was not going to let him play the entire martyr. "Do you even know what you're sorry for?" She asked. "I was the one who rejected you initially. Perhaps I am to blame for all that has befallen us?"

Matthew unconsciously skimmed his thumb against the knuckles of her right hand. She shivered in response.

"I won't let you do that." Matthew responded. "I was the one who asked you to marry me. I was the one who …. Seduced you and then abandoned you. I broke vows of fidelity to you…" He faultered in voice and looked utterly miserable.

"As I did to you." She insisted. "I married another man. Perhaps I need your forgiveness."

His head shook in disagreement. "You don't need my forgiveness. Because of my thoughtlessness you were driven to such actions. I have no such excuses. I don't deserve any anything but your scorn."

The self-hatred in his haggard face almost staying Mary from continuing. But she had to. They only had limited time.

Mary drove home her questions. "Was it love?" She moved an inch or so back to create a space between them. She needed distance to think more rationally. "Or lust? Or something the war brought on…"

He shrugged his shoulders. Matthew had no honest answer for her. He still did not quite understand the multitude of emotions that overtook him that night with Margaret.

The silence deepened.

"Was it like what it was for us?" She finally asked. The one question she really wanted an answer to.

Matthew's head and body shook violently at that question. "No." His answer gut raw and wrenching.

"Then why?"

"I …I don't want to make excuses." He paused, agonized about just how much to reveal.

Looked at Mary. She had withdrawn even further away from him. She wanted an answer. She deserved an answer.

He started again. "We placed ourselves in a vulnerable position." Clearing his head and trying to recall the mix of pain and grief that led to his downfall. "After Simon's death, I felt numb. Hollowed out. I have become separated from human emotions. To the touch of another person. You have to make yourself hard. Deny any feelings. It's a survival instinct." Matthew knew he wasn't supposed to talk about it. To diminish the morale and support for the war on the home front was against regulations as well.

Matthew had to scoff internally at that notion. He was already a condemned man, so why not just tell the unforgivable truth.

"The war is madness." His voice turned cutting. "It makes us all madmen." Stripped of tone, his words came out as a whisper. "I had not realized it made me so as well. You want to lash out in some way. To feel. To feel anything. Some I know become enraged on the battlefield, killing the Boche with their bare hands rather than with the bayonet. Others turn to the flesh peddlers. The brothels."

He turned his now ravaged eyes onto Mary. "I did not want either of those options. So I became the good soldier. Focused on the details of getting the job done. The next big push. The next orders to go over the top. To kill more of them, than they killed of us." His tone now one of mocking self-irony. "As if that was in any way sensible." He stopped suddenly.

Mary felt the silence surround her. But she let it continue. He needed to get all this out. Before they could move on.

"Then Simon was killed." Still the open wound. Raw and painful. "And a numbness settled over me. I knew my death was only a matter of time. We all are going to get it in the end." Sounding completely fatalistic now.

"I am sorry. I shouldn't be speaking this to you. I shouldn't burden you with this. We're supposed to keep up the spirits of the folks at home."

"You can tell my anything Matthew. I want to know." She assured him. "We're in this together now."

Matthew still needed to torturously confess all. If Mary was to understand, she had to hear everything.

"I went to see Margaret. To … erm be with someone who knew Simon as I did. I did not realize that in the sharing of grief, things get very confused. Her touch undid any strength I had left. I was overcome with the need to feel again." How could he ever explain this to Mary?

Mary's lips quivered, her eyes wounded, but she let him continue.

"Margaret told me after that she believed we used each other in order to make love to those we truly wanted to. To Simon." He looked at Mary. "To you."

Mary gripped his hand. To still the shaking that had started over take his body. His voice. Mary reassured him, "She told me she knew you were still loved with me."

Matthew refused to be assuaged though. His guilt was not to be expiated so easily. He shook his head. "I used her most ill. I betrayed my own values and opened her up to disgrace. It's unforgivable."

"She didn't seem ill-used or angry to me." Mary gently rebutted. "As a matter of fact I think she's thinking clearly for the both of you."

Despite himself, Matthew chuckled wryly. "You may be right."

"Besides, you did suffer a reprimand. And scandal in the papers." She reasoned. "Your worst fault, my darling, is to take the guilt of the world upon your shoulders. You must let others share it, or it will break you."

His eyes turned to hers. They were softened, half-lidded. He blinked. Sudden relief flooding his body.

Mary sensed his expiation. And felt rotten that she was about to flood him again with emotional tumult.

She squared her shoulders for strength. Gripped his hands and forced him to sit up straighter in the comfort of the settee.

"Matthew." Her voice as matter of fact. "I must tell you something. A part of my story you don't know about. The real reason I had to marry Sir Richard."

"Your father found out about us. He wanted you to have a good social position and pushed you to marry him?" He hazarded. "That's what I always assumed. Thing is, I never worked out how he discovered us. He didn't seem suspicious that day at Downton." Matthew searched his memory back to the morning he brought Mary back to her home in order to ask Robert for Mary's hand, only to be supplanted by Sir Richard and Rosamund's visit. God, he thought, he believed he had all the time in the world back then. Only to have his world fall out beneath him when he returned to France and receiving Robert's letter announcing Mary's marriage to the newspaperman.

"There's a piece missing from that story."

She had his full attention. His eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"About a month after you left I was in London visiting Aunt Rosamund. Sir Richard stopped me in the street to talk about another visit to Cliveden…." She ignored Matthew's eye roll at Richard's audacity. "Unbeknownst to be I fainted and Sir Richard brought me to hospital."

"What?" Matthew's eyes now popped open wide.

"When I woke up, I was told I suffered a miscarriage." She glanced to gauge his reaction. "I had lost a great deal of blood and then they sedated me until after the…" She made herself carry on "…the procedure."

Matthew blanched pale. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

"I did not even know I was carrying a child it was so early." Her next words a whispered cry, "…Our child."

His hand started to tremor. Mary forced herself to look away and finish her story.

"Sir Richard had already presumed to tell the doctor that I was his wife. In order to maintain the charade and save me from public humiliation, Mama and Papa forced me to marry him that very afternoon." Her words came out embittered and hard as the memory returned. "I felt completely abandoned and helpless that day in the hospital."

Matthew's tremors became worse as his breath turned ragged and his body began to shake uncontrollably. Mary's voice became muffled as if she was speaking to him from a great distance.

He heard nothing more. Mary's grievous words broke him to his core being. She had been through so much without him.

"Oh God. Oh God," his voice wretched and dry, barely able to make speech, "how could I have been so stupid. So selfish. I should have known. I should have been there…" He started to weep uncontrollably.

Instinctively Mary reached out and enfolded him inside her arms. She pressed his head into her chest to calm his convulsions. The rawness had worn off her grief. It now longer bit and clawed at her.

As it is did for Matthew, she thought. She felt his body sink, helpless in her arms.

It worked. He listened to her heart beat. It steadied him.

"I know my darling. I know…" She soothed. But then her own tears started. His arms came around her waist. He pulled towards her and her head rested in the crook of his neck. He felt her wet tears against his bare skin. His own mouth tasted the metallic bitterness of salt as he wiped the tears away with his tongue.

Long minutes passed. A protracted silence to mourn and remember. The silence between them comforting and still.

The information settled around Matthew' mind. They had lost a child. He had not been there to support her. Everything made sense now. Robert's letter. The declaration he was no longer welcome to the family. The distance that had grown between them all.

Death was supposed to come on the battlefield. In the front lines, in No Man's Land. He saw so much of it. He didn't think he'd ever be caught unaware by death again. Yet here it was. In the safety of England. In the body and heart of the woman he loved.

That was not supposed to happen. His job was to keep her safe. And he failed in it.

He loosened his hold on Mary. She raised her head up and caressed his cheek, wiping away the last of his remaining tears.

Yet he saw nothing but love in her eyes.

His lips, bitten raw now as he stemmed back more tears, managed to say "You're so strong Mary. You should not have had to go through all that alone."

"It's all behind us now." She said. "We must think of the future."

"The future." Matthew breathed out the weight of the world. "I'm not even sure what that is anymore. We know only the present in the trenches. It's best not to think too much ahead."

He turned towards her. "I will make it up to you. I will make it all up to you."

"I know you will." She managed a smile. "It's why I asked you here tonight. To tell you everything before you had to go back again. So we can make plans. Now that we know where we stand with each other."

"I will never leave you alone again." He promised. "Even if that means seeing you with Sir Richard." He could bare to use the term husband. That was something he had wanted to be to her.

"No Matthew." Mary insisted. "I want to be with you now and always."

"But surely…." Matthew's already shattered heart skipped another beat. "You know you can't just ask for a divorce. The law is quite strict on these matters. And he's already used it to force your hand in this marriage. Any more and he'll surely make your life an open misery."

"It already is so." Mary replied, telling the cold hard truth. "I want out. I want our life to start again. We've both suffered enough. Lived more pain and grief than most should bear."

Matthew nodded, knowing the truth of it. "And more to come. It's another year at least. Now that the Americans are in it though, the end is in sight. The Germans can't hold out against their might."

Mary shuddered at the thought of him having to go back.

Matthew spoke again. "We need to get rid of him. Once and for all. Does he have a mistress? Do you know?" The latent legal training seeped back into Matthew' mind. "That's the easiest way to get a divorce as the injured party."

Mary shook her head. "He's married to his work. Not to any woman. He's only interested in people he can use." Her hard tone indicative of long experience.

Matthew had loathed Carlisle. Now his thoughts turned to pure hate and physical violence.

But for the time being, he remained detached and cool. He had to ask the next question, as painful as it would be to hear her answer. "And he hasn't hurt you?"

"No." Mary replied. "At least not that any court of law would count."

He blanched at cool, bald reality of that statement. "He's forced himself on you, you mean?"

"Only in the early days of our marriage." She managed to get out. She knew how much this would hurt Matthew. "Not at all in the last couple of years."

Matthew's doleful eyes were painful for Mary to gaze upon. Matthew had a vision of throttling Carlisle with his bare hands. How satisfying that would be.

He did not reveal that to Mary. "So that means…."

"I've banished him from my life, Matthew. We live as strangers. I have information about certain war profiteering friends of his that I've used as leverage." Her words flat and plain. She had no emotional connection at all to her husband.

"Very clever." He said, admiringly. "Very brave as well. To confront him like that."

"I had no choice." Again the tone of resignation bordering on despair.

Mary shivered.

"Are you cold?" Matthew looked around for a shawl or wrap.

"Come with me." Mary stood up. She wanted to change the direction of this conversation. She led him into the inner chamber of her bedroom. Matthew hovered near the door.

Mary smiled. Ever the gentleman, she thought. She continued to walk towards her dressing table. On the chair was a textured crimson wrap.

Would he remember?

His eyes were downcast as she returned to him. Matthew felt uncomfortable invading her privacy to be sure, but he also did not want to enter her bedroom in a home that was another man's. He did raise his eyes to glance around a bit furtively. Well-appointed and beautifully furnished, he watched her slip the wrap from the back of a chair. But his eyes were drawn to her dressing stand. On it was a brush and comb set, silver mounts etched with bouquets of flowers.

Matthew smirked slightly at Mary's cheeky daring. That brush and comb set was one and the same he had given her as a gift. The night they made love two years previous.

Mary saw the set had caught his eye. "What he doesn't know…"She intimated with a thin smile and a lift of her eyebrow. She brushed him with the crimson wrap as she tossed it across her shoulder. He helped her fit it around, fingering it with his left hand.

"You are as covert as some of our operatives behind enemy lines." He caressed her cheek as his right hand lifted the wrap around her shoulders.

"Fight with fire Anna always says." Mary replied. She took his hand into hers. Drew him near and kissed him with every ounce of her being.

"My darling Matthew. It's so very good to have you here with me on Christmas Eve. Let's make a promise, shall we?"

She pointed out her bedroom window to where a single bright star shone. A star to make a promise upon.

His lips, still feeling the press of hers upon his, opened slightly. "Let's pledge, God and fate willing, we will be together next year in peace."

"Together in peace. Together in heart, in body, and soul." Mary crooned into his ear.

"You have my eternal love always, my darling." His lips danced and played her open mouth. He could be getting into very dangerous waters if he continued. He felt the softness of her silky shift beneath his fingers. He caressed the glossy softness all the way down her back.

"It won't be easy." He whispered. "We might have be particularly daring and open in the giving Carlisle the sack. It might get very nasty at first, and in the public's eye."

Only the merest hint of trepidation in Mary's eyes. She decried emphatically, "I'm not prepared to live a lifetime of misery. I will take the scandal. I will become your mistress if I have to. We will not be turned away."

He gasped slightly at that frank admission. "I want to be with you Mary. We'll put it all to the test." No going back if they intended to be together.

"Only one other thing." Mary pulled away. "We need to tell Papa the whole story." She felt Matthew's ire grow. "Despite his misinterpretation of our intimacy, he did what he did for what he thought was in my best interest."

"Then we will do so." His fingers threaded through her hair and pulled her close again for another kiss. "We'll make him understand. I will make him understand."

Their cheeks caressed. "I should have already done so. I've left it far too long."

"When do you leave?" She had to ask.

He breathed out. "Day after tomorrow we return to France. Tomorrow we go to Westminster Abby for the service. Then the trip to Dover in the afternoon."

"I'm to go Downton. I leave by the early train." Mary wrapped her arms around his middle. One last embrace before they were to part.

"You've given me back a reason to live." Matthew admitted. "I think I had forgotten for a very long time." He drew her close. Neither wanting to let go.

"I'm glad of that." She refused to believe he would not come back to her.

"There's a story that goes around the lines every Christmas. It recalls the Christmas truce of 1914 when some Germans met some of our Tommies in No Man's Land and played a game or two of football. They sang carols and refused to fight." He recalled thoughtfully. "You stick a board up in the air to create a cease fire. It give you a chance to bury some of the dead, shore up damaged trenches. Barter for cigarettes or chocolate." He smiled at that.

"Sounds very necessary." Mary said.

"Yes they were. The High Command no longer allows them. Instead we fight every Christmas." He sneered slightly. "They don't want us forgetting we're at war."

"We found our own peace tonight." Mary said, trying to relieve some of the heavy burdens he carried.

"Yes." Happy now, in her arms. "Yes we did."

They walked arm and arm back towards the front door of her sitting room. "I've got to go." Matthew finally said unwilling to let this time together end. "I have to return to my billet before anyone notices I've gone."

"I know." Mary said. "Go. I understand."

His hand on the door knob. He turned. "I love you so terribly much."

"I know." She gave him one last kiss. A kiss to remember her by. An appeal to his return. "Come back to me."

His shadow retreating down the hall was the last she saw of him. Anna would see him outside.

She returned to the window, opening the sill, and gazed upon that single Christmas star in the dark night sky.

"I'll be waiting." She murmured on the whisper and flutter of the night wind.

XX

_I hope you liked it. Happy Christmas to all. And a wonderful New Year!_

_Reviews always always welcome! _


	16. Chapter 16: A Christmas Tryst

_**Ch 16: The Christmas Tryst**__: This is my (I'm haslemere on tumblr) submission to __Hufflepuffhermione __for the 2015 Secret Santa on tumblr. It also marks the one year anniversary for this story!_

_Mary and Matthew snatch time together on Christmas Eve 1917 to answer some hard truths, reveal a painful secret, plot strategies to remove a certain someone from Mary's life, and renew their vows of love and trust._

XX

Anna walked briskly towards the front door of the small hotel. She had an urgent message to deliver to Major Crawley. The snow fell hard against her cheek. It was going to be a white Christmas after all.

"Is Major Matthew Crawley in?" She asked at the front desk.

"Who wants to know?" The young clerk responded. She had been told not to let anyone see the officers. Especially young women.

"I don't need to see him for long. Just to pass along a message." Anna responded. "But I need to give it to him by hand. Could he come down?"

"I'll just see."

A few minutes later Matthew bound down the steps, curious to see who summoned him.

"Anna?" He was happy to see her. Any connection to Mary.

Anna walked closer to him as he approached the bottom stair. She leaned in, "I was told to hand this to you. To make sure you get it." And she finally released the missive from her hand to his now trembling fingers.

His eyes. So sapphirian blue. Yet shaded. Wounded. Anna would remember his eyes. When she handed Mary's note to him. They were excited. Wary. Hopeful. Cheered. A lifeline to a drowned man. Mindful of past hurts he caused. Circumspect to committing them again in the future.

He clutched the note. It crumpled in his grasp.

"Am I...are you." He started. "Are you to wait for an answer?"

"No." Anna said. "It's self-explanatory. You'll understand when you read it." And she took Matthew's hand for just a second. "Sir Richard is away in Paris. The staff has been given the evening off."

Matthew's breath came shallow and hard. The immensity of the moment enveloping him in a kind of paralysis.

"Right." So hoarse, so quiet Anna wasn't sure she heard him. He believed it a dream. He was to wake up and find himself back in the trenches. Dripping wet from the rain and muck.

"She'll be expecting you around 9pm." Anna's no-nonsense practicality reasserted itself. She needed him to understand they were to be entirely discrete. "Use the service entrance."

His eyes suddenly aware of the implications of those instructions, flashed bright. "I'll be there."

Anna nodded and left. She left him open mouthed, stunned. Just with a glimpse of perceiving that this was the beginning of the rest of his life.

Sometimes she loved her job.

XX

Mary fidgeted with the place setting on the small table set up in her sitting room. The room adjacent to her bedroom. Upstairs in the townhouse she shared with Richard.

Where she had invited Matthew to visit. Alone. Her husband away.

In the eyes of society, in the law she had already committed adultery. Just by letting a man into her home. The note inviting him being proof. The letter previously sent declaring her love for the same man damning them both. Legally binding. Richard would see her disgraced if he knew she had written them. Had sent them to him.

She no longer cared.

A strength brewing within her. A strength born of pain. Of endurance. Of love denied.

And now regained. In the library the night he surprised her, asleep by the fire.

He had kissed her. She had returned his kiss.

They had sealed their fate in that moment.

Yet…

His mental state was fragile Margaret had said.

This might break him. But she'd have to chance it.

He deserved the truth.

As did she. Margaret knew him so intimately and so well. How far did that intimacy extend? Mary knew it encompassed physical intimacy. And although the rational part of her understood the complexity of that, she was still viscerally jealous that another woman had touched him. Had been satisfied by him the way she had been. Was it the same? Did Matthew love her? Margaret had replaced Mary as Matthew's confidante. Did he tell Margaret about her? Was his past an open book to this woman she barely knew?

There was so much to talk about with him.

She had seized the moment. Richard announcing he had achieved an interview with some arms manufacturer in Paris. His abrupt leave taking. She was to go to Downton for Christmas as pre-arranged. The London house closed until the New Year, the staff given time off with half-pay. She would have given more, but Richard insisted on the economy.

Mary privately gave them all a holiday bonus as soon as her husband vacated the premises.

Then the plan for the evening fell into place. She wrote the note to Matthew specifying that he arrive late and by the rear entrance. For his discretion as well as hers. Anna left to deliver it.

She prepared for the evening. A simple meal of coffee and sandwiches had been arranged by Anna to be sent up to Mary's sitting room.

Anna looked at Mary with trepidation when she announced the meal would be upstairs. But Mary eyes brooked no opposition. This was not to be a meeting following society's rules. It was not to be in the open. In the formal dining room. There was to be no Rosamund or another relation to chaperone her visit with a single man.

But intimate. Private. Befitting the fact that Mary and Matthew were beyond convention. Their love had a sanctity of its own.

She certainly felt that way. She wanted to know if he felt the same.

Mary carefully chose her wardrobe along the same lines of thought. The midnight blue nightdress and lined silk robe were her favorites. Anna kept her hair down, loose around her shoulders.

Matthew would be in no doubt. She wanted to appear to him as a lover. For lovers they had been. And that intimacy had led to the very reason she needed to talk with him this very night.

She would not have him go back to hell without her telling him about their child.

This night. The Christmas that would change their lives.

XX

Matthew placed his service cap on his head. He was just about ready to go. The snow was falling hard but it was supposed to stop. Somehow, in London, the snow that would have caused him chilblains and a fever in the trenches now made the atmosphere that much more festive.

Or perhaps it was just his mood. Giddy he was. Which would have been impossible for him to believe just yesterday. He thought he had the one moment with Mary. And that would sustain him. It was going to have to.

But now. Now they were to have a whole evening. On Christmas Eve of all times of the year.

He was going to have to be careful. The Army Field Manual danced in front of his eyes rather than sugar plums. The section on cashiering in particular. Broken in rank to private. Utter and complete humiliation.

The punishment he was sure to suffer if caught a second time with a married woman.

But there was not an ounce within him to deny this opportunity of time alone with Mary. He would just have to leave and return to his billet after they spent time together. After he had time to explain to her about what happened with Margaret. After they cleared the air about the confusion surrounding their own night together two years previous.

He seemed to be making a habit of this, he mused as he put on his great coat. Something he had not ever intended. He cared about both women. About their reputations as well. He would take Mary's advice and enter via the back service entrance. He would be back in his rooms before anyone noticed him gone.

It had to be this way.

He flicked the collar up. The snow was falling hard.

Out in the snow he walked as fast as he could towards Eaton Square. He did not want to lose any more time. Glancing around, he took the corner and opened the gate. Knocked at the door.

Anna let him in.

The rush of warm air flushed his cheeks red. "Hello Anna. I'm not too early?"

"No sir. Right on time." She took his coat and hat. "Lady Mary's upstairs. I'll show you the way."

Matthew felt a delightful set of butterflies settle in his stomach as he followed Anna into the servant's staircase to the second landing. Anna opened the green baize door. Pointed and said, "Second door on the left." Matthew started to exit. His eyes turned suddenly tentative. They darted left and right. Was this the right thing?

"You're a good man, Major Crawley." Anna impulsively gripped his arm. "Be good to her. She's chancing a great deal."

This night was not just about his own guilt. His own need to apologize.

Mary's actions risked all for him. Her reputation. Her marriage. Her well-guarded privacy.

"I'll take care." He responded sensitively, an invocation. A promise.

"See you do." Only then did Anna release him out the door.

He made his way to Mary's door. He rapped softly on the oak panel.

A quiet "Come in" greeted his knock. It was confident. So singularly Mary. The first words he had heard from her in two years. And they were for his ears alone.

He walked inside.

The room was fire lit. Mary was in silhouette contrasting light and dark.

He took in her beauty with hungry, yet respectful eyes.

She motioned him towards her. He drew near.

Seated on the settee, she had poured him some coffee. Something to do with her hands while she waited for him.

Mary's eyes never left his for a second as he walked the last steps and took the seat next to hers. He was so gaunt. So careworn. A skin and bones version of the man she once knew.

She resisted the urge to throw her arms out to embrace him in her warmth and her love.

Instead she remained still. Waiting his first move.

"Hello my darling." The endearment spilling forth from his lips before he could think. Did he have the right to call her such?

His eyes searched hers for reproof. A chastisement for assuming too much. He saw nothing but love. Love he didn't think he deserved.

"Matthew." All her prayers to keep him safe now true. She had no room in her heart for accusation.

They embraced. He felt his cheek glide against her neck. Breathed in her scent, her being. She felt his tremble, his hesitation.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked.

A slender, inviting smile traced her mouth. She gave her assent with a nod. He kneeled down and met her lips in a loving, intimate kiss. He drew back. Both shuddered and felt the pull to do even more.

"Mary…." Matthew's voice, rough and guttural. Needy.

"You can kiss me," She said, staying his hand and reasserting command over the situation. "But that is all. We have much to talk about."

That was his Mary. He laughed lightly and leaned back into the settee, feeling calmer than he had any right to be. Just being in her presence healed him.

He turned to see her eyes again. Those deep pools of chestnut brown that he could finally behold in person rather than in the flitting daydreams of his mind.

And in her steadfast gaze, underneath where she tried to hide it, he did see trepidation. A wariness he had brought into those eyes.

"Oh God Mary." He would do anything to remove that look of pain. "I am so so sorry. Do you know how sorry I am?" His voice still hoarse and dark, now with agony and shame.

He took her hand in his.

She was not going to let him play the entire martyr. "Do you even know what you're sorry for?" She asked. "I was the one who rejected you initially. Perhaps I am to blame for all that has befallen us?"

Matthew unconsciously skimmed his thumb against the knuckles of her right hand. She shivered in response.

"I won't let you do that." Matthew responded. "I was the one who asked you to marry me. I was the one who …. Seduced you and then abandoned you. I broke vows of fidelity to you…" He faultered in voice and looked utterly miserable.

"As I did to you." She insisted. "I married another man. Perhaps I need your forgiveness."

His head shook in disagreement. "You don't need my forgiveness. Because of my thoughtlessness you were driven to such actions. I have no such excuses. I don't deserve any anything but your scorn."

The self-hatred in his haggard face almost staying Mary from continuing. But she had to. They only had limited time.

Mary drove home her questions. "Was it love?" She moved an inch or so back to create a space between them. She needed distance to think more rationally. "Or lust? Or something the war brought on…"

He shrugged his shoulders. Matthew had no honest answer for her. He still did not quite understand the multitude of emotions that overtook him that night with Margaret.

The silence deepened.

"Was it like what it was for us?" She finally asked. The one question she really wanted an answer to.

Matthew's head and body shook violently at that question. "No." His answer gut raw and wrenching.

"Then why?"

"I …I don't want to make excuses." He paused, agonized about just how much to reveal.

Looked at Mary. She had withdrawn even further away from him. She wanted an answer. She deserved an answer.

He started again. "We placed ourselves in a vulnerable position." Clearing his head and trying to recall the mix of pain and grief that led to his downfall. "After Simon's death, I felt numb. Hollowed out. I had become separated from human emotions. To the touch of another person. You have to make yourself hard. Deny any feelings. It's a survival instinct." Matthew knew he wasn't supposed to talk about it. To diminish the morale and support for the war on the home front was against regulations as well.

Matthew scoffed internally at that notion. He was already a condemned man, so why not just tell the unforgivable truth.

"The war is madness." His voice turned cutting. "It makes us all madmen." Stripped of tone, his words came out as a whisper. "I had not realized it made me so as well. You want to lash out in some way. To feel. To feel anything. Some I know become enraged on the battlefield, killing the Boche with their bare hands rather than with the bayonet. Others turn to the flesh peddlers. The brothels."

He turned his now ravaged eyes onto Mary. "I did not want either of those options. So I became the good soldier. Focused on the details of getting the job done. The next big push. The next orders to go over the top. To kill more of them, than they killed of us." His tone now one of mocking self-irony. "As if that was in any way sensible." He stopped suddenly.

Mary felt the silence surround her. But she let it continue. He needed to get all this out. Before they could move on.

"Then Simon was killed." Still the open wound. Raw and painful. "And a numbness settled over me. I knew my death was only a matter of time. We're all going to cop it in the end." Sounding completely fatalistic now.

"I am sorry. I shouldn't be speaking this to you. I shouldn't burden you with this. We're supposed to keep up the spirits of the folks at home."

"You can tell my anything Matthew. I want to know." She assured him. "We're in this together now."

Matthew still needed to torturously confess all. If Mary was to understand, she had to hear everything.

"I went to see Margaret. To … erm be with someone who knew Simon as I did. I did not realize that in the sharing of grief, things get very confused. Her touch undid any strength I had left. I was overcome with the need to feel again." How could he ever explain this to Mary?

Mary's lips quivered, her eyes wounded, but she let him continue.

"Margaret told me after that she believed we used each other in order to make love to those we truly wanted to. To Simon." He looked at Mary. "To you."

Mary gripped his hand. It was ice cold. Mary reassured him, "She told me she knew you still loved me."

Matthew refused to be assuaged though. His guilt was not to be expiated so easily. He shook his head. "I used her most ill. I betrayed my own values and opened her up to disgrace. It's unforgivable."

"She didn't seem ill-used or angry to me." Mary gently rebutted. "As a matter of fact I think she's thinking clearly for the both of you."

Despite himself, Matthew chuckled wryly. "You may be right."

"Besides, you did suffer a reprimand. And scandal in the papers." She reasoned. "Your worst fault, my darling, is to take the guilt of the world upon your shoulders. You must let others share it, or it will break you."

His eyes turned to hers. They were softened, half-lidded. He blinked. Sudden relief flooding his body.

Mary sensed his expiation. And felt rotten that she was about to flood him again with emotional tumult.

She squared her shoulders for strength. Gripped his hands and forced him to sit up straighter in the comfort of the settee.

"Matthew." Her voice as matter of fact. "I must tell you something. A part of my story you don't know about. The real reason I had to marry Sir Richard."

"Your father found out about us. He wanted you to have a good social position and pushed you to marry him?" He hazarded. "That's what I always assumed. Thing is, I never worked out how he discovered us. He didn't seem suspicious that day at Downton." Matthew searched his memory back to the morning he brought Mary back to her home in order to ask Robert for Mary's hand, only to be supplanted by Sir Richard and Rosamund's visit. God, he thought, he believed he had all the time in the world back then. Only to have his world fall out beneath him when he returned to France and receiving Robert's letter announcing Mary's marriage to the newspaperman.

"There's a piece missing from that story."

She had his full attention. His eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"About a month after you left I was in London visiting Aunt Rosamund. Sir Richard stopped me in the street to talk about another visit to Cliveden…." She ignored Matthew's eye roll at Richard's audacity. "Unbeknownst to me I fainted and Sir Richard brought me to hospital."

"What?" Matthew's eyes now popped open wide.

"When I woke up, I was told I suffered a miscarriage." She glanced to gauge his reaction. "I had lost a great deal of blood and then they sedated me until after the…" She made herself carry on "…the procedure."

Matthew blanched pale. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

"I did not even know I was carrying a child it was so early." Her next words a whispered cry, "…Our child."

His hand started to tremor. Mary forced herself to look away and finish her story.

"Sir Richard had already presumed to tell the doctor that I was his wife. In order to maintain the charade and save me from public humiliation, Mama and Papa forced me to marry him that very afternoon." Her words came out embittered and hard as the memory returned. "I felt completely abandoned and helpless that day in the hospital."

Matthew's tremors became worse as his breath turned ragged and his body began to shake uncontrollably. Mary's voice became muffled as if she was speaking to him from a great distance.

He heard nothing more. Mary's grievous words broke him to his core being. She had been through so much without him.

"Oh God. Oh God," his voice wretched and dry, barely able to make speech, "how could I have been so stupid. So selfish. I should have known. I should have been there…" He started to weep uncontrollably.

Instinctively Mary reached out and enfolded him inside her arms. She pressed his head into her chest to calm his convulsions. The rawness had worn off her grief. It now no longer bit and clawed.

As it is did for Matthew, she thought. She felt his body sink, helpless in her arms.

It worked. He listened to her heart beat. It steadied him.

"I know my darling. I know…" She soothed. But then her own tears started. His arms came around her waist. He pulled towards her and her head rested in the crook of his neck. He felt her wet tears against his bare skin. His own mouth tasted the metallic bitterness of salt as he wiped the tears away with his tongue.

Long minutes passed. A protracted silence to mourn and remember. The silence between them comforting and still.

The information settled around Matthew' mind. They had lost a child. He had not been there to support her. Everything made sense now. Robert's letter. The declaration he was no longer welcome to the family. The distance that had grown between them all.

Death was supposed to come on the battlefield. In the front lines, in No Man's Land. He saw so much of it. He didn't think he'd ever be caught unaware by death again. Yet here it was. In the safety of England. In the body and heart of the woman he loved.

That was not supposed to happen. His job was to keep her safe. And he failed in it.

He loosened his hold on Mary. She raised her head up and caressed his cheek, wiping away the last of his remaining tears.

Yet he saw nothing but love in her eyes.

His lips, bitten raw now as he stemmed back more tears, managed to say "You're so strong Mary. You should not have had to go through all that alone."

"It's all behind us now." She said. "We must think of the future."

"The future." Matthew breathed out the weight of the world. "I'm not even sure what that is anymore. We know only the present in the trenches. It's best not to think too much ahead."

He turned towards her. "I will make it up to you. I will make it all up to you."

"I know you will." She managed a smile. "It's why I asked you here tonight. To tell you everything before you had to go back again. So we can make plans. Now that we know where we stand with each other."

"I will never leave you alone again." He promised. "Even if that means seeing you with Sir Richard." He could bare to use the term husband. That was something he had wanted to be to her.

"No Matthew." Mary insisted. "I want to be with you now and always."

"But surely…." Matthew's already shattered heart skipped another beat. "You know you can't just ask for a divorce. The law is quite strict on these matters. And he's already used it to force your hand in this marriage. Any more and he'll surely make your life an open misery."

"It already is so." Mary replied, telling the cold hard truth. "I want out. I want our life to start again. We've both suffered enough. Lived more pain and grief than most should bear."

Matthew nodded, knowing the truth of it. "And more to come. It's another year at least. Now that the Americans are in it though, the end is in sight. The Germans can't hold out against their might."

Mary shuddered at the thought of him having to go back.

Matthew spoke again. "We need to get rid of him. Once and for all. Does he have a mistress? Do you know?" The latent legal training seeped back into Matthew' mind. "That's the easiest way to get a divorce as the injured party."

Mary shook her head. "He's married to his work. Not to any woman. He's only interested in people he can use." Her hard tone indicative of long experience.

Matthew had loathed Carlisle. Now his thoughts turned to pure hate and physical violence.

But for the time being, he remained detached. He had to ask the next question, as painful as it would be to hear her answer. "And he hasn't hurt you?"

"No." Mary replied. "At least not that any court of law would count."

He blanched at coldly spoken, bald reality of that statement. "He's forced himself on you, you mean?"

"Only in the early days of our marriage." She managed to get out. She knew how much this would hurt Matthew. "Not at all in the last couple of years."

Matthew's doleful eyes were painful for Mary to gaze upon. Matthew had a vision of throttling Carlisle with his bare hands. How satisfying that would be.

He did not reveal that to Mary. "So that means…."

"I've banished him from my life, Matthew. We live as strangers. I have information about certain war profiteering friends of his that I've used as leverage." Her words flat and plain. She had no emotional connection at all to her husband.

"Very clever." He said, admiringly. "Very brave as well. To confront him like that."

"I had no choice." Again the tone of resignation bordering on despair.

Mary shivered.

"Are you cold?" Matthew looked around for a shawl or wrap.

"Come with me." Mary stood up. She wanted to change the direction of this conversation. She led him into the inner chamber of her bedroom. Matthew hovered near the door.

Mary smiled. Ever the gentleman, she thought. She continued to walk towards her dressing table. On the chair was a textured crimson wrap.

Would he remember?

His eyes were downcast as she returned to him. Matthew felt uncomfortable invading her privacy to be sure, but he also did not want to enter her bedroom in a home that was another man's. He did raise his eyes to glance around a bit furtively. Well-appointed and beautifully furnished, he watched her slip the wrap from the back of a chair. But his eyes were drawn to her dressing stand. On it was a brush and comb set, silver mounts etched with bouquets of flowers.

Matthew smirked slightly at Mary's cheeky daring. That brush and comb set was one and the same he had given her as a gift. The night they made love two years previous.

Mary saw the set had caught his eye. "What he doesn't know…"She intimated with a thin smile and a lift of her eyebrow. She brushed him with the crimson wrap as she tossed it across her shoulder. He helped her fit it around, fingering it with his left hand.

"You are as covert as some of our operatives behind enemy lines." He caressed her cheek with his right hand as he lifted the wrap around her shoulders.

"Fight with fire Anna always says." Mary replied. She took his hand into hers. Drew him near and kissed him with every ounce of her being.

"My darling Matthew. It's so very good to have you here with me on Christmas Eve. Let's make a promise, shall we?"

She pointed out her bedroom window to where a single bright star shone. A star to make a promise upon.

His lips, still feeling the press of hers upon his, opened slightly. "Let's pledge, God and fate willing, we will be together next year in peace."

"Together in peace. Together in heart, in body, and soul." Mary crooned into his ear.

"You have my eternal love always, my darling." His lips danced and played her open mouth. He could be getting into very dangerous waters if he continued. He felt the softness of her silky shift beneath his fingers. He caressed the glossy softness all the way down her back.

"It won't be easy." He whispered. "We might have to be particularly daring and open in giving Carlisle the sack. It might get very nasty at first, and in the public's eye."

Only the merest hint of trepidation in Mary's eyes. She decried emphatically, "I'm not prepared to live a lifetime of misery. I will take the scandal. I will become your mistress if I have to. We will not be turned away."

He gasped slightly at that frank admission. "I want to be with you Mary. We'll put it all to the test." No going back if they intended to be together.

"Only one other thing." Mary pulled away. "We need to tell Papa the whole story." She felt Matthew's ire grow. "Despite his misinterpretation of our intimacy, he did what he did for what he thought was in my best interest."

"Then we will do so." His fingers threaded through her hair and pulled her close again for another kiss. "We'll make him understand. I will make him understand."

Their cheeks caressed. "I should have already done so. I've left it far too long."

"When do you leave?" She had to ask.

He breathed out. "Day after tomorrow we return to France. Tomorrow we go to Westminster Abby for the service. Then the trip to Dover in the afternoon."

"I'm to go to Downton. I leave by the early train." Mary wrapped her arms around his middle. One last embrace before they were to part.

"You've given me back a reason to live." Matthew admitted. "I think I had forgotten for a very long time." He drew her close. Neither wanting to let go.

"I'm glad of that." She refused to believe he would not come back to her.

"There's a story that goes around the lines every Christmas. It recalls the Christmas truce of 1914 when some Germans met some of our Tommies in No Man's Land and played a game or two of football. They sang carols and refused to fight." He recalled thoughtfully. "You stick a board up in the air to create a cease fire. It give you a chance to bury some of the dead, shore up damaged trenches. Barter for cigarettes or chocolate." He smiled at that.

"Sounds very necessary." Mary said.

"Yes they were. The High Command no longer allows them. Instead we fight every Christmas." He sneered slightly. "They don't want us forgetting we're at war."

"We found our own peace tonight." Mary said, trying to relieve some of the heavy burdens he carried.

"Yes." Happy now, in her arms. "Yes we did."

They walked arm and arm back towards the front door of her sitting room. "I've got to go." Matthew finally said unwilling to let this time together end. "I have to return to my billet before anyone notices I've gone."

Mary said. "Go. I understand."

His hand on the door knob. He turned. "I love you so terribly much."

"I know." She gave him one last kiss. A kiss to remember her by. An appeal to his return. "Come back to me."

His shadow retreating down the hall was the last she saw of him. Anna would see him outside.

She returned to the window, opening the sill, and gazed upon that single Christmas star in the dark night sky.

"I'll be waiting." She murmured on the whisper and flutter of the night wind.

XX

_I hope you liked it. Happy Christmas to all. And a wonderful New Year!_

_Reviews always always welcome! _


	17. Chapter 17: The Passing Bells

**XX**

**April/May 1918—Arras quarter**

A strip of grimy wallpaper reached Matthew's eye as he cautiously opened one. The low hum of busy people talking in hushed tones met his ears.

Both eyes came open. Blinked. Where was he? The crash of a metal cart, heavy with glass put him to rights on that. He was at the Casualty Clearing Station again.

Groaned at the thought. He remembered how it happened.

His battalion of the MGC had joined with an Indian cavalry division before they were withdrawn to Egypt in order to conduct training during a lull in the fighting. The German spring push was on and his men were seeing action along the Arras quarter.

He had found speaking with a Sikh cavalryman fascinating. The Indian Civil Service had been one option Matthew had been considering before the letter from Lord Grantham came that changed his life forever in a completely different direction.

The legendary absolute fearless reputation of the Gurkha regiments, Matthew also knew well. Of rifleman Kubir Thapa, who although wounded himself, stayed with a British soldier behind German lines and carried him, as well as two fellow Gurkha wounded, through the wire to safety. He won the Victoria Cross.

This cavalryman, Gunbir Rasgotra, was of Punjabi descent. He had been fighting since the Somme and had found adjustment to European warfare difficult. Colonial wars were conducted differently. He found this trench warfare to be nothing short of suicidal madness.

"Don't get me wrong," he said to Matthew over a strong pot of tea, "I've served under good British officers, and cowardly ones." He shrugged. "I fight to bring honor to my family and to die a brave death." He looked directly into Matthew's ghostly opaque eyes, "for to die is all our fates."

Matthew had no response. They all felt that way.

The weapon they trained on was of terrifying destruction. The interlocking fields of fire of the machine guns mowed down the German attacks well into March 1918. The army had finally gotten its act together and they would concentrate fire upon specific targets or serve in support of front line action. The current German attack had failed and the fight for Amiens ended when General Ludendorff terminated the offensive.

Matthew's mind succumbed to nightmares of the dead more and more. His guilt at wielding such a destructive weapon was atoned only because he agreed it would shorten the war ultimately.

And God knows all they wanted was the end to all of this.

At night he read to take his mind off the day.

In addition to his beloved Dickens, Matthew felt drawn towards a couple of the war poets. He had met Siegfried Sassoon at a London war charity event and therefore felt compelled to privately support his Public Statement of Defiance against the military authorities who, according to Sassoon's charge, deliberately prolonged the war for their own ends rather than come to a peace by negotiation. He also knew Sassoon threw his MC ribbon into the sea. Rather than be court-martialed, he was sent to Craiglockhart for neurasthenia, the medical term for shell shock.

It was so typically incongruous of the war, Matthew thought, that the author of one of the tersest, most clear-cut biting accusations against the war he had ever read, would be hospitalized for insanity.

That, to Matthew's mind, was the war in a nutshell. That and the poem that he knew Simon would have wished he himself had written.

_Good-bye, old lad! Remember me to God,  
And tell Him that our politicians swear_

_They won't give in till Prussian Rule's been trod_

_Under the Heel of England ... Are you there? ..._

_Yes ... and the war won't end for at least two years;_

_But we've got stacks of men ... I'm blind with tears,_

_Staring into the dark. Cheero!_

_I wish they'd killed you in a decent show._

The day after his conversation with the cavalryman, he found himself on the lines for just an hour past dawn.

An an incoming artillery shell burst next to him. The force of the blast threw him arse over head into a debris pit. His ears ringing, slightly disoriented, he tried to move. The agonizing pain in his lower leg made him scream out. His bad leg, previously wounded in 1915, was cocked at a peculiar angle under his body. He could not move it without yowling in discomfort. He slowly crawled out of the pit and dragged the leg until a couple of machine gunners emerged from their dugout and helped to carry him to the aid station.

He could bear no weight on the leg. After it was temporarily set, he was to be put once again on a hospital ship back to London General Hospital.

He had not only broken the tibia again, but he had additional stress fractures because he had weakened the leg by continuous and repetitive stress over the past two years.

It was, the doctor said, a Blighty wound for sure. His war was over. He would not be returned to front line duty. "Lucky man." He angled an eyebrow up.

And, in his cot with the peeling wallpaper and the screams of his fellow injured surrounding him, Matthew shut his eyes in grateful thanks to that unknown Boche artilleryman.

He was not going to die after all.

XX

"Matthew?" the voice echoed in his drug addled brain. As if across a great distance. He was back at Downton, lying in the sun. The heat felt good. Suddenly it grew dark as a shadow crossed his face. He drowsily opened an eye. Mary's face was before him, an aura of the darkened sun behind her.

Matthew smiled. She was so lovely.

The noise of the hospital finally interrupted his reverie. The scrape of the shoes of the RAMC orderlies shuffling as they carried heavy gurneys of the wounded about the ward. The VAD nurse at the next bed was administering a syringe of morphine to a screaming lance corporal.

He was still in London. The dream passed. "Mary?" he finally opened his cracked, chafed lips. He swallowed and turned his tongue around his mouth. "What are you doing here?"

"Don't you want to see me?" She tried to be lighthearted. He looked so wan, so tired. Thin and shaking under the thin blanket. She pulled it up around his shoulders.

"Of course I do." Matthew attempted a smile. "But…. Should you be here?" He tried to sit up. "It is rather chancy."

Mary's slight shoulder shrug was all the answer he needed. "I don't care what anyone might think. Richard is away in Paris. You're part of our family. My father's heir. I'm just doing my duty visiting a hospitalized relative to wish him well."

And she leaned closer. "No one can gainsay that."

He slumped back, still in pain. "Did you hear the news? I'm not going back to the lines. Once I'm rehabilitated they're sending me to light duties with the regiment. Probably some kind of training."

Mary excitedly nodded. "The doctor told me, when you were still asleep. It's marvelous news." Her eyes glistened with tears of joy. "You're going to Downton you know. For your convalescence."

Matthew looked slightly alarmed. "I'm not sure about that. Your father…"

"Cannot contradict the doctor's orders. It's the closest officer's convalescent facility for your regiment. You're to be released within the week. I only wish I could travel with you…"She reached out to take his hand.

Matthew's eyes narrowed at her daring gesture, but he did not let it go. He spoke in a hushed tone, "I'm not sure that is allowed, but I do wish it could be so."

Mary's face quivered. "You just get yourself there in one piece."

"How did you know I was here?" He furrowed his brow. "Who told you?"

"Your mother did." Mary said quietly. "She knew I'd want to be kept informed."

"I see." Matthew replied. "She's been to see me a couple times I think. The early days here are quite fuzzy in my head."

"Yes. I came to see you right as she was leaving. You cried out and I held your hand until you calmed down. She said she'd stay with you until you slept again."

He remembered none of that. "I do hate that you saw that." Hated the nightmarish visions that overtook his senses. He hated being out of control like that.

Mary hushed him with her hand against his cheek. Isobel had known, had seen such men in agony before. But that it be her own son, it was different. She had been so impressed with Mary's instinctive grasping of Matthew's hand. Her iron grip upon it until the shaking had stopped. Her calm demeanor when Matthew's deadened eyes gazed unknowing into her own.

"You're quite a help to him." She had said to Mary.

"It's nothing." Mary knew she could do so much more to help, but was unsure how.

"It's the very opposite of nothing, my dear." Isobel's kind words struck Mary to almost tears. The two women had looked upon each other. Isobel didn't need to be told anymore.

Mary suddenly realized in that moment they would have an ally in Matthew's strong willed mother.

"We both just want you to get better." Mary tried to keep her words calm. The doctors had warned Isobel about possibilities of infection, the potential for amputation. But as the fortnight drew to a close, those fears had been alleviated. His leg, though permanently weakened, would be fine. He'd just have to walk with a cane.

So now he was just a few days away from being moved to York.

Matthew squared his jaw. "I want to make it right with Cousin Robert. I want to explain everything. This will be my only opportunity. But I want your acquiescence on this. As it will reveal our own secret, as well as my late disgrace."

Mary paled at the potential fall out of such a confession.

His grip got tighter on her fingers. "For us. If we still…" He hesitated. "…If we still want to go through with our plan. Unless you've changed your mind."

His eyes grew dark with concern. "Have you changed your mind about us?" His voice shatteringly fragile.

Mary's response was firm. Her gaze resolute. "Never. We shall be together. I'm all in. And no time like the present to start."

"I'm so relieved." He exhaled. "Would you… would you get me a glass of water please?"

"Of course." Mary got up and went to a tray in the corner. Returned and helped Matthew sit up a bit straighter in the cot. She moved close to his face. He brushed her ear with his lips, "I love you."

She withdrew to the chair. Gripped his hand. "I'll see you in a few days." And left his side.

Matthew leaned into the pillow. Smiling.

The future was not so bleak any more. Perhaps, just perhaps he could take stock of his life at last without the knowledge of certain death.

XX

Mary tried not to keep checking on Matthew. The ambulance had brought him earlier that morning. He was still asleep. She was helping Edith hand out books to some of the convalescees which gave her freedom in the ward.

If Edith was surprised at Mary's sudden interest in supplying the soldiers with reading materials, she found her answer in the bed next to the French doors leading out to the monk's garden.

"Matthew's here." She turned to find Mary climbing the ladder looking for an edition of Tennyson's Idylls of the King.

Mary's gaze fell first on the man in the bed. Then on her sister. "He came from London with the morning arrivals."

Edith saw that softened look from her normally cold sister. She was still in love with Matthew. Edith was sure. Despite what Edith had always assumed to be her calculated marriage to a more successful, and more like to live, suitor Mary loved her wayward soldier.

"I didn't even know he was wounded." Edith probed further. "How? How did you?"

"I…I found out in London." Mary's voice was cool.

"Is that why you're suddenly here? Helping out? Because of Matthew?"

She turned a cold eye down to Edith. "Yes if it's any of your business." Her sniff of detachment was not lost on Edith.

"Mary we do battle all the time." Edith replied. "I know the difference between your true disdain for me and when you are putting on an act to hide your regard." She glanced at the man in the bed. "We both love Matthew, Mary. Maybe in different ways. But we both love him. I understand your concern. I won't tell anyone."

Mary bit her lip. Could she trust Edith? Entrust her secret to her? She wasn't sure. So she just nodded and returned to scanning the shelves for the book.

Edith returned to her work as well. With a slightly better sympathy for her sister. Maybe her war wasn't as free of care as she let on. So much of Mary's life had been parties for officers and newspapermen at Carlisle's beck and call in London, it seemed as if the war was a great distance from her. As if she did not even see the wounded, the dead. Just an inconvenience.

Maybe that was all an illusion. A mask and an act to hide her true feelings.

"Sybil's on the night shift. I'll let her know he's here." Edith said, walking towards the paneled partition to the small library.

They had to start somewhere, if they were ever to heal their relationship.

Mary stepped off the ladder. She turned to Edith. Smiled and said a soft "Thank you" before departing the room to give to retrieved book to the soldier who had requested it.

It was a beginning.

XX

Matthew was outside. It was getting dark and he was considering making a move when he noticed two other convalescees on the other end of the terrace.

"Corporal Mason?" He called out. William turned. It was him.

"Major Crawley, is that you?" Mason smiled.

"Yes." Matthew reached to let out the brake on the wheelchair. He hated the thing, but they did n't want him putting too much pressure on his leg just yet. "Give me a minute."

And he wheeled over. "How longer are you here?" He stopped in front of Mason's seat. The other man he also recognized. "Sergeant Barrow. I haven't seen you around."

"No sir." Barrow said, flinging the butt of his cigarette on the ground. "I'm just back from leave. I missed your arrival."

Matthew nodded and motioned for the NCO to sit down.

Mason said, "I've been to London. To St. Dunstans Hostel. But I got an infection and now I'm recuperating again."

"But I won't grumble." He turned in Matthew's direction. "They are teaching me Braille, by the way. And now I'm to help out some others."

"Glad to hear you're better." Matthew was glad to see Mason doing so well.

Matthew pulled a cigarette out of his packet and passed it around. Barrow handed out his lighter. Matthew took note of Barrow's bandaged hand.

"How'd you get that?" He asked cautiously. Matthew had seen those type of wounds before.

Thomas Barrow answered warily. He knew the major had cottoned onto the truth already. But he could prove nothing.

"Got caught in wrong place at wrong time," Barrow replied simply. But he pulled his hand back towards his body.

Matthew met Barrow's level gaze. He knew Barrow was lying. The most likely way to get that type of injury was to hold your hand up and hope a German sniper took a shot. Suicide by Hun it was called on the lines. Some danced around the parapets hoping a German would get them. Others put petrol in their eyes to falsify conjunctivitis. Others even injected paraffin hoping to turn parts of their skin into cancerous sores. Others profited from it by selling the paraffin. It was a neat little game all in all.

He sighed. Who was he to call him out? He could, of course. Call him out and send him to the gallows for cowardice.

Barrow knew it. His hand had started shaking.

Matthew continued his steady gaze. He had had to deal with all this in France. Usually it was settled within the regiment. Extra duties, that sort of thing.

He could call him out. But he wouldn't. He understood why the men did it. To get away from the fucking war wasn't it.

Who was he to say that was wrong? Indeed it was the sane answer in a world gone mad. Barrow had been kind to him his first time at the aide station in Lillers. He'd had seen the war full on, taking care of the wounded, the blood soaked, the mained screaming about their lost arm or leg.

And besides, he himself had been treated leniently by his commanding officer.

He'd let it all go. This time.

Matthew blinked, and slowly settled back in his wheelchair. "So what's the gossip here, eh?" He took a puff of the cigarette and let out the smoke.

Barrow, realizing his reprieve, let out an anxious breath. He realized the major was a good bloke. A good officer who understood. He handed out a flask with some brandy in it. "Have some Major?"

Matthew took it. The three men sat in ease. Their war over. The long day was done.

XX

Matthew, hobbling on crutches now, made his way towards the tucked away part of the library that Robert still used as his private sitting area.

He found him reading the paper, with Isis at his feet. The dog yelped in recognition and loped towards Matthew.

"Hello old thing." Matthew said, his voice low as Robert was actually dozing in the chair. "I wish I could bend down and pet you…."

He noticed a chair and made his way carefully towards it. Eased down and landed with a soft thud on the cushions. He sighed in contentment. Those crutches were hell on his shoulders. He massaged one with his left hand, while Isis demanded attention with the right. The dog pushed a small item towards Matthew with her nose.

"What's this then?" Matthew said. "How did you get a ping pong ball?" He then shifted his eyes to the other end of the partition. "Right." He suddenly understood. That part of the library had been changed to a games room. He heard some soldiers playing table tennis and laughing as one scored.

"Do you want to play fetch with this?" He asked, amused. He clucked with his tongue and sent the little ball scattering across the room. Isis barked and ran after it.

Waking up her master. "What? What?" Robert's eyes opened. "Oh … " He sat up. "Matthew." The discomfit in his voice was not lost on the younger man.

Matthew and Robert had strictly avoided each other in his time at Downton convalescing. As soon as he was able, Matthew had been ambulatory around the castle. Cora and Violet had tried to convince him to take a private room above stairs as he was family, but he insisted that the small bed by the window was fine. He liked being among the men. Hearing their talk, their stories. He liked the light shining in from the gardens. The scent of the gardenias and the crocuses.

That such things still existed in part amazed him. His eyes had gotten so used to the dead landscape of France. The bombed out shell holes. The ruined chateaus and rubble strewn churches. Of course the flowers still bloomed even there in springtime. Life finds a way. The ever present poppies atop the soldier's mass graves.

But the abundance of a garden. That old Fowler still tended the flowers as usual was an odd comfort. Matthew would sit on the veranda for hours and just bask in the scents and the sunlight.

As he gathered strength, his walks became longer. Sometimes with the crutches and sometimes without. Depending on the level of the pain. He had his stick as well.

And that reminded him of Mary. Of their night at Crawley House. "You are my stick," he had called her. His balance made stronger by her mere presence.

Mary and he had only gazed upon one another at a distance. She flitted in and out of the room, on various errands. Her eyes shifting to his. His regarding hers. It was enough. Both thought it best they keep apart. He did not want her to talk to her father for him. Neither did he want her there for the initial encounter which might get a bit ugly and make her uncomfortable.

No, he had to do this alone.

"Hello Robert." Matthew's hand unconsciously gripped the armchair rest. "I would like to talk with you. To …to explain certain things."

Robert harrumphed "I'm not sure there is anything to say. We did what we believed was in Mary's best interest. An interest, I might say you should have had more care in protecting."

Matthew closed his eyes. He deserved that rebuke.

"I do care about Mary. I care a great deal." Matthew finally responded. "I understand you are disappointed in me. I feel the same. I thought…." He was flailing now. "I do think you might have the wrong idea…"

"Is there room for misinterpretation? You didn't think at all." Robert interrupted. "You seem entirely incapable of restraining yourself. I think we did our best to protect Mary from scandal. A scandal, I might add … a dishonour that another woman of your… um…what shall we call it? Acquaintanceship…was not so lucky. It was splashed all over the newspapers. You and that poor woman's shame for everyone to see." He was spluttering the words out. "And you deserved more punishment than the Army doled out. In my day…"

The accusations stung Matthew's ears. "That's not fair. You know as well as I that Carlisle was behind that publishing. He took what was a private matter and added vitriolic fueled jealousy and hate to outright falsify those accounts."

"Jealous?" Robert exclaimed. "He saved Mary. He has no need to be jealous."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Mary does not love him. She made the best of a bad situation. But Carlisle knows the truth."

"A situation you brought on…"

"I'm not denying that Robert. I'm not shirking that truth. And I understand you did what you thought was in her best interest. We were irresponsible. I was thoughtless. But hasn't Mary suffered enough?"

"And there you go conveniently forgetting what happened in France. As if we could trust you again." Robert shook his head in disappointment.

"That was entirely different. It...I..." Matthew floundered again. How much was he supposed to divulge? He made a promise not to tell anyone but Mary, and that promise to Margaret he intended to keep.

"While the cold facts tell one story, what's missing is the context. My relationship with Margaret is private. I'm not going to lay out what took place, but my commanding officer understood that my intentions were in no way dishonourable. And bear no relation whatsoever to what took place with Mary." Matthew's head was spinning, but he had to get all this out.

Robert interjected "You are right that I don't want to know the unsavory details. It is Mary you must beg forgiveness from if you want to return to the family's good graces." He turned his eye to Matthew. "I accept that we must learn to live with one another again. You are, for my sins, my heir. But I don't think we could ever return to how it was before the war."

Matthew slumped. He did not like losing Robert's respect. But he wasn't sure he saw any way out of this situation. "I have reached out to Mary. We have spoken in confidence. She does understand what has happened. I have asked for her forgiveness."

"I know I'm old fashioned. I understand in times such as these, so topsy turvy, bring with them changes in attitude. I've lost my place in this new world. The old values tossed aside." Robert's voice was strained. "I may no longer have value. But I am still head of this family. Mary needs protection. You..."

Matthew burst out, "I love Mary. I intend to marry her."

"What are you playing at Matthew?" Robert was dumbfounded. "How can that possibly come about without bringing further disgrace upon the Crawley name? Yet more sordid revelations in the paper? I cannot condone or approve such activities."

"I'm not asking for your approval…" Matthew threw back.

"But we'd like to have it all the same." The steady, loving voice of Mary appearing behind Matthew as she entered the small library behind the partition.

"Mary." Her father turned around to see her. "He's asking you to participate in immoral acts…"

"No Papa." Mary replied firmly. "The immoral act was Sir Richard marrying and keeping a woman under false pretenses. One who he knew never loved him. And a legal system that refuses to acknowledge a woman's perspective."

"A divorce? In the family? No one has ever divorced in the Crawley family." Robert shook his head.

"I want out." Mary exclaimed. "I understand what you did was in my best interest. I don't blame you for it and I'm not angry about it, Papa. But the circumstances have changed. Matthew is free from the war at last. We have a future. A future we can plan together."

Matthew grasped her hand from the chair. He reached for his crutches to stand beside her. Once upright he placed an arm delicately around her shoulder to show a united front.

Robert blinked rapidly. Put his hand to his brow, "I cannot condone this behavior. Family considerations must take precedent. Let's put this off for now. At least until the guns have stopped. Let's get through that at least."

Matthew was shaking with all the exertions. "I'm not sure that's enough…"

But Mary stayed his hand. "Let me take you back to your bed, Matthew."

Matthew realized she was telling him something with the undertone of her words. It was the best her father had at the moment. Don't push it.

He relented.

"Thank you Mary." He turned to Robert. "It was good of you to listen Robert. Thank you for that." And he held out his hand.

Robert hesitated, but offered out his own. "I am very glad you are out of the fighting, my lad. You must know that at least." And then he sighed. "I just wish I had more to do in the show."

Matthew gave a half-smile. "You did your bit in the last war." He started to walk away with Mary's help, but turned around. "I could try to pull some strings and get you to the support lines of the regiment. You could tour around and see the fighting up close."

Mary startled beside him. "Is that safe?"

"Oh yes." Matthew assured her. "We had brass visit all the time."

Robert looked rather pleased. "I have wanted to see things for myself."

"I'll telegraph my Colonel, shall I?" Matthew asked Robert.

"Yes." Robert looked finally pleased to see Matthew. "Do that. I'd be most appreciative."

They shook again and this time Mary led Matthew away to rest.

"Well that's a relief." Matthew said, easing back down into his bed by the window. "At least we're talking again."

Mary nodded. "You were on the verge of losing it, though."

"Yes, thank you for intervening back there." He smiled slowly.

"And you're sure he'll return to us in one piece?" Mary agreed with Matthew that her father would have been out of his depths in this modern warfare.

"Yes." He pursed his lips. "The adjutants take good care of the tourists as we call them. And the regiment likes it because they come back with just enough of an impression of the show to give us all a good nod."

Mary left it at that. "I have to return to London. I can't stay."

"I'm glad you were here. Sybil and Edith are taking good care of me. And besides, within a couple of weeks I'll be well enough I think."

"Have you had any word as to your future?" She sat down next to his bed.

"I'm to start organizing training new officers and NCOs from the Duke of Manchester's Own into the MGC. Ironically it's going to be at Grantham, in Lincolnshire." He sounded rather excited to get back into action.

"I'm glad to know it." Mary replied. "It's a relief for all of us. Rest now." And she slipped a hand along his blanket. "I'll check in on you before I go."

Matthew was already closing his eyes from the exertions of the afternoon.

XX_  
Well that's a start. I hope to hear your opinions, views and observations! What do you think of Robert's hesitations? Matthew and Mary's assertion they want to be together?_


	18. Chapter 18: Armistice

_We're going to move things forward in this chapter. Mary and Matthew's future is being planned even as amends are being made and the war comes to an end._

XX

**July/August 1918**

"We're getting a visit from Lord Beaverbrook. As he's Canadian he wants to talk to some of the commonwealth soldiers." Cora read from the letter she had received just this morning. She had walked into the convalescent rooms to find Matthew. He was seated near a window, reading.

"I see." He said as Cora took the seat next to his.

He left his opinion of Beaverbrook to himself for the moment.

Cora continued, "With Robert away on his tour…" And she gave Matthew the black look he had come to know well from Cora since his stay at Downton. He knew she had been angry with him for Mary's potential disgrace. Their night together had resulted in personal tragedy and a marriage hastily arranged. Cora, however, was even more adamant than Robert for Mary to give Richard a chance to keep their marriage together. She blamed Matthew for the failure of that.

And now he encouraged Robert to go on a tour of the secondary trench lines. Had arranged it with his colonel back in the Machine Gun Corps. Robert was more than pleased.

Cora was not.

"With Robert absent, you will have to stand in for him." She informed him.

"Me?" He looked askance. "Really?"

"You are the heir. You are the natural choice." Handing him the letter, Cora sat back in the chair. "You must begin to accept that."

But I loathe all fucking newspapermen, Matthew thought caustically. Indeed he had the soldier's aversion to all members of the press, the government, the church, and anyone who continued the drivel of propagandist support of the war. Matthew knew the war had to be supported of course, but not with the jingoist enthusiasm or blind faith required by those types.

However, Beaverbrook was rival to both Lord Northcliffe and Sir Richard Carlisle himself, so that did intrigue Matthew. Perhaps Cora was right. He should fully realize and receive his role as heir. No longer dodging or ignoring it, but embracing it and Downton as his future.

Would it rile Sir Richard if Major Matthew Crawley, MC and heir to Downton Abbey toured the owner of the _Daily Express_ around the convalescent facilities, pointing out how the Crawley family, and the women in particular, have taken charge and made the veterans stay a healthy and comfortable one. That he would slip in his hopes for the Americans bringing a swift end to the war as well as President Wilson's 14 Points speech as influential on Germany coming to the negotiations table. He would be the diplomat, not the hothead. The assured heir to an earldom.

And that would really stick in Carlisle's craw.

For those reasons alone, Matthew became more amenable to the visit.

"When exactly is this visit? I will be ready." Matthew said evenly trying to verify to Cora he understood his responsibilities.

Cora responded with a decided look of skepticism.

She had not really interacted with Matthew during the war. He was no longer the pining young suitor to her haughty daughter. Indeed he seemed the opposite. A rash, reckless cad who not only potentially ruined her daughter's reputation, but that of another soldier's wife in France. For which he seemed entirely shameless. She knew Mary had forgiven him.

Cora was not sure she ever could.

Yet now, she had to rely on him. Although she served as hostess when the earl was way, with the heir in residence, and the guest a powerful newspaperman, Matthew had to do it.

He seemed very reluctant to take on the mantle of heir. Before the war he seemed most truculent towards any suggestion of Robert's he adjust his views on class and economy. Events over the last three years did not improve those opinions. They only made her doubt even more. Would he be up to this task? Or beg off?

Matthew was speaking, "Will you get me up to speed on statistics regarding how many soldiers are being seen at Downton? What kind of therapies are available? And the functions of the staff and VAD volunteers. And I would kindly ask that you join me in the tour so you can point out anything I might miss." He sat up straight in the chair and took a small notebook from the pocket of his tunic to jot down some ideas. His eyes had become focused and bright.

Cora, despite herself, felt pleased at Matthew's reaction. She saw his brain switch from the torpor which he had first greeted her. She had noticed his gaunt appearance upon arriving for convalescence. But now she took in his mature presence. His command voice.

He had become a man in the crucible of war. The very same her daughter still loved. She knew it even if neither admitted it to her. Robert had confided to her the conversation he and Matthew had before his tour of the front lines began. Where Matthew had declared his love, and Mary reciprocated.

They were determined to be together.

Would she hinder them? Force Mary to stay in her safe, if stultifying marriage. One society approved of. Or would she help?

"The course of true love never did run smooth…." She thought to herself. They had been through so much. They did deserve happiness at least.

She'd withhold further conversation on this point until after Lord Beaverbrook's visit. Then she'd take Matthew aside for a good long talk.

It was time they settled the air between them.

XX

Matthew was very interested suddenly. It would be something to do. Something to get him out of his own mind that dwelled too much on past sorrows and horrors.

Mary had returned to London. And he sat for long hours near the window, the rains that summer keeping him cooped up indoors. His leg was as healed as it was ever going to be. The pain was shooting and constant some days, others he hardly felt it.

He tried to read. His mind drifted.

He had told Mary the war had made him a mad man. It had also made him old. Some days he felt like he was ninety years old. Like one of those aged men who could tell the weather based on the level of achiness in his joints.

He was to start his appointment with the MGC training grounds in a fortnight.

This tour was just the thing to get him back into action. Get the cobwebs out of his skull. No longer the patient, helpless and dependent.

No longer just sitting and thinking about Mary.

He had agreed with Mary that they do nothing with regards to going public with any affair until after the war was over. When he was out of the army and no possible repercussions would reflect on his regiment or his military service.

If that thought might have once surprised him, it did no longer.

He had become, in the past four years, a soldier. He identified as such in his mind. He had to. He commanded a machine gun battalion. An intense, terrifying job even on days when his men saw no action. Sixty four guns. Ordered to support infantry attacks, fill gaps in the line, protect the flanks of the brigade in action, or divert attention to neutralize enemy observation or action.

The men under his command were targets to be taken out, enemy fire drawn to them specifically. There was not a day that went by he did not lose good officers and men.

Some he barely knew. Others had faces that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

The transition back to peacetime, already happening during his convalescence, scared him. He no longer knew that pre-war Matthew. The kindly lawyer, a bit too willing to see the best in everyone.

The war had hardened him. Disillusioned him.

Could he return to be the man he was?

The man who loved Mary with a fierce passion.

Well at least that had not changed.

So nothing could be done until after the war ended. He would do nothing to reflect poorly on his time in service. He may take private issue with the point of the war. The direction the politicians and generals had taken it. But he was a soldier. And he owed them his loyalty and his best. He got respect and support from his fellow officers and men in return.

He had come very close to losing it all.

The judicial action had taken him completely by surprise. He had thought his private life was still that, even though he held military rank. But it wasn't. His night with Margaret, their subsequent meetings were open to military review.

He was found wanting. Disregarding his honor as an officer. He had taken complete blame for the incident, if that was even the word to use for something so intangible, so instinctive as his night with Margaret. He had not wanted her to have to explain away his thoughtlessness. To defend him just to save his skin. So he said nothing, and took the reprimand.

It was as it should be.

But once he was released from his duties, upon his demobilization he was on his own again.

So any scandal would be just on himself. And Mary. They had decided upon an open affair. Or least the appearance of such. To stir the pot so to speak. To force Sir Richard to action.

Neither were sure of the particulars of how they would conduct their affair. It would come with time. Nor were they sure of how he would react.

Indifference perhaps? Which would be disastrous to their plans.

Violence? Matthew knew that to be a real possibility. Carlisle was a cruel man, prone to jealousy. And they were going to be deliberately provoking him.

Acceptance and proceed with divorce? That would be the best solution.

Until such things as all options could be discussed and sorted out, they would be more than careful in any meeting between the two of them.

All proprieties maintained.

They would be tested. And put to the test. Their passion. Their need abated until such time as society allowed.

Could he last that long? Could Mary? He felt the want in her kisses. He knew she felt the same in his.

Both feared another pregnancy if they went ahead with any kind of real physical affair. Such a scandal could not be borne by the family. By the fragile harmony he now held with Robert.

But he also couldn't help but know there were other means of pleasure, other ways of slaking their desire that would not result in anything but exquisite satiation. To leave them panting, wanting more, yes. But also leaving them able to endure the wait.

Rather than dwell on those thoughts as much as he might want to, Matthew turned his full attention to this tour.

He'd give Beaverbrook a tour guaranteed to impress.

XX

Matthew eased down on to the chair with a contented grunt. Cora told him to get off his feet and give his bad leg a rest.

"I'll pour you a whisky." Cora moved to the table alongside the doors leading to the garden in the small library. The commotion of men snoring and talking could be heard around the thin panel barrier.

Matthew looked a bit amused. "I won't say no, even though we've all supposedly taken the pledge."

"We deserve it." Cora replied. "And I'm quite sure they're all guzzling it down once Lord Beaverbrook and his coterie return to London."

Matthew agreed. "How does Carson find such good quality stuff? Usually the best black market whisky goes straight to the General Staff." He snorted a bit in derision.

"I don't ask." Cora said. "So I can have some deniability."

They both laughed. "Well rest assured I won't tell. Max," and he used his name with only a touch of sarcasm, "can find his own." As old pals now, Beaverbrook told Matthew to call him by his Christian name.

Am I supposed to bow or something, he thought in mockery. But he was on his best behavior, so he simply gave the expected nod of his head.

It had actually, all in all, gone off rather well.

The rich entrepreneur had left a short while ago after what he declared to be a most successful and informative tour. "You're a good man Major to take so much time with me. And you, Lady Grantham. I'm in your debt. It will make good copy all the information you've given me here about our Canadian boys getting the best care."

Afterward Matthew was going to return to his bed near the window. He was to leave within a day or two for the training grounds at Grantham and wanted to make sure he had all his gear in the kit bag.

But instead Cora asked that he join her in a celebratory drink.

And a talk, it turned out as she handed him the whisky.

He started first. As it was his to explain. "Cora I know you think my actions have not been those of a gentleman." He pushed his hand against his forehead, the rubbing action assuaging the headache he felt coming on all day. "And I have hurt those I love." He choked at the back of his throat saying that, hurting Mary. He would never forgive himself for that. Even if she had.

"But it was... none of it... done with intent." He knew that was still quite unforgivable.

"Thoughtlessness doesn't make it any less painful." Cora snapped. She wasn't ready to listen to excuses.

"No." Matthew said, his voice getting raspier. He didn't know if was the whisky combined with talking the past two hours on the tour. Or the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He had to keep it together in order to talk this out with Cora.

He coughed. "No it doesn't. I've already talked with Robert about it, as you know. And Mary."

Cora looked up sharply. "You've seen each other privately? Don't you know that's dangerous?"

"I know better than most." Matthew reminded her. "But we were discrete." Matthew's eyes flicked up from his drink to see that Cora was giving him that black look again. "We had things to discuss that could only be done so in a … a more intimate setting."

Cora was silent.

"Mary told me about the baby." He cleared his throat as it was getting choked up again. "The miscarriage at the hospital and therefore the need to marry Sir Richard in haste. I never understood the reasons for it having to be so fast. I … am to blame for all of it." He wiped the side of his cheek as the unbidden tears fell.

"I will spend the rest of my life making it up to Mary. To all of you." He finished. Unable really to say anything more.

Cora gazed at him steadily. She would truly be heartless not to see his pain. His atonement.

"What do you want from me?" She asked quietly.

Matthew took a swig of the whisky. "Mary and I want your support. We want a divorce from Carlisle, but the only way to get it is for him to bring it. We must provoke him in some way to that action."

"When will this happen?" Not surprised by what he had to say, Cora had figured out as much.

"Not until after the war." Matthew admitted. "Then we'll see. Until then we must try to keep her away as much as possible from him."

"She's returning to York next week as a matter of fact." Cora informed him. "I asked her to come to help me in the book keeping."

"Really?" Matthew wondered whether that was done deliberately by Cora. To keep his distance as well. "And I'm leaving day after tomorrow. So you see, we shall be apart as well."

He gave her a half smile. She returned it.

They understood each other.

"Today was a good day." Cora finally said. "Let's end on that note."

And so it was, Matthew agreed. At least cease-fire had been reached.

XX

**The Eleventh Hour of the Eleventh Day of the Eleventh Month 1918**

Robert had everyone in the hall. In the saloon parlor with its leather wall coverings and stately fireplace. The furniture had been moved out and everyone lined up on either side.

The bell tolled the hour and the minute.

_Go tell the Spartans, you who read/We took their orders and are dead._

Matthew stood at attention by Lord Grantham's side. The war was over. He could scarcely believe it.

The utter waste of it all. The need to make England a nation fit for heroes. A war to end all wars.

His generation, the survivors, had quite the job ahead of them.

And quite frankly, they were all shattered. In mind. In body. In spirit. What a hope.

And yet it was going to have to be done.

What career would he do? In the long years ahead of him. Robert, hale and healthy lord and master of Downton for a long time to come.

Return to the law? Find another career? What could he do?

When the bell finished it's eleventh toll, the men dispersed. Back to their beds. The nurses returned to duty. Awaiting the call to demobilize, to close the hospital.

It was all over.

Matthew caught Mary's eye across the hall. They gazed steadily at each other from downward seeming eyes. Despite Richard standing beside her, Matthew never broke contact.

He saw something shine in the light. It was only then he noticed she had secretly placed his gifted silver regimental badge under her jacket lapel.

They had made a promise to each other.

It was all just beginning.

XX

**March 1919**

Matthew read the letter from Colonel Peters. He was being asked if he wanted to deliver the memorial plaque granted to Major Simon Heyton to his parents in Dorchester.

Matthew knew of the plaque and accompanying scroll. He had heard of the competition for its design as far back as 1916. When everyone realized such a memorial would be a daunting task, given the numbers of dead soldiers.

Created, produced, and financed by the government, the "dead man's penny" as they inevitably were called because of their resemblance to the penny coin were being distributed to all next of kin to the dead in the war. A small bronze plaque with the image of Britannia facing left and holding a laurel wreath included a box with the name of the dead soldier. Dolphins and lions represented the various branches of the military being commemorated. "He died for freedom and honour." A smaller lion biting into a winged creature representing German imperialism was etched into a corner.

Inside the box was the inner package. Sent direct from Buckingham Palace to be given to Mr. and Mrs. Geoffrey Heyton by a grateful nation.

Matthew's hand trembled as he closed the box back up.

This he would do. For Simon.

But he did not want to go alone. So he sought out Mary.

Everyone at Downton had spent the past few months very quietly. Christmas came and went with a solemnity still hovering from the war.

The new year of 1919 dawned. Matthew was demobilized at last. His leg mended as much as it was going to, Matthew was ready to get out and do something.

Robert and he had spent much of the winter going over the books of the estate. Matthew, trying not interfere yet knowing a bit more about modern finances than Robert, advised against investing in a far off Canadian rail trunk line.

"I think the money should first go to revitalize the estate, don't you think." Playing on the noblesse oblige he knew was close to Robert's heart. "We've not done much with the infrastructure of the cottages or outbuildings since before 1914. These new taxes are going to be the very devil, to be sure. And I know it seems lucrative to invest as the Americans are doing, but I think we should hold off and use our capital to put in the estate. That way once the farm starts bringing in profit, we'll have more income to invest wisely."

Robert ruminated some on this, and ultimately agreed. "It is good to have you back, my boy. I missed our conversations. Keeping the land in the family is the ultimate goal. Even if…"

Matthew sat back and rubbed his leg. It was acting up today. He glanced outside, of course it was raining.

"Thank you. I missed them as well." Matthew was grateful for the return of Robert's friendship. "And I know you want me to marry and sire an heir."

The two men exchanged knowing looks. "But that can't be. Not until Mary is free to marry again."

Robert nodded. They knew the truth of it.

Time to get that underway, Matthew thought now as he closed the box containing the package of Simon's medallion.

Time to start the next chapter of their lives. He'd ask her to go with him to Dorchester that very Sunday.

She was in the music room with her mother. "Mary, may I see you a moment?"

Cora simply said, "Don't be too long. Dinner will be at eight."

Matthew opened the French doors. The wind was chilly but the sun was out.

They walked outside, Matthew taking the stone steps carefully one at a time.

"Would you like a day out?" He tried to sound casual.

"Where?" Mary was intrigued.

"Dorchester. Colonel Peters wants me to deliver Simon's memorial plaque to his parents. I'd rather not go alone." Matthew stopped. They sat down on the bench under the big Lebanon cedar.

Both knew of its significance. It was, to both their minds, where their real romance began. So many years ago.

A lifetime ago Matthew thought. When Sybil and her politicking was the highlight at Downton. And a conversation about having "a good argument" ended with them plighting their troth at Sybil's ball months later. Only to have it all go wrong.

"We promised to love each other forever, you know." Mary said. "When we agreed to marry. That's what it means."

"And we do." He said, taking his finger and sliding it delicately against her cheek.

They sat quietly, agreeable just to be together.

He finally said, "Time we get started on being together forever again."

Mary nodded. "Yes." She took his hand. "Do you want me to go with you to his parents' house? That might be awkward."

Matthew blanched. "No. Not to the house." His relationship with Margaret was known to Simon's parents. She had written privately to Matthew to tell him she had explained matters. And that all was well and understood. There was no room in their hearts for anything but love towards the man who was their son's best friend.

But he did not want to place Mary in any awkward position. So they agreed to take the train down to Dorchester and she would wait for him at a local tea room. They'd return on the afternoon train.

He looked around to see if anyone lurked, then moved closer to brush her lips with a kiss.

"I'll be waiting for you."

"Thank you." He said, his voice warm and rich with emotion.

They stayed on their bench for the best part of the next hour until the sun lay low in the sky.

XX

"It was very good of you to come Major Crawley." Geoffrey Heyton saw Matthew to the door. The familiarity of the sitting room replaced by the more courteous use of his rank. "Marjorie was just a bit overcome."

Matthew nodded. Simon's mother had excused herself and retired to the bedroom after talking with Matthew and the exchange of the medallion.

"He was a good man, Mr. Heyton. The best there ever was." Matthew's voice was thick. "I'll miss him til the day I die."

"God be with you, Matthew. I'm glad to see you survived unscathed." The older man said.

The two shook hands and Matthew turned to open the gate out onto the pavement.

He turned towards town and the tea shop where Mary said she'd meet him after his lunch with the Heytons.

The bell dinged as he opened the shop. She was seated near the back.

"How was it?" She said, pouring him a cup. "This should buck you up."

"Bloody awful at the beginning. But quite healing and good near the end. They loved their son dearly." Matthew took a slice of cake off the tray. He ate little while at the Heytons.

"I've been told the trains are all running late. On account of the railwaymen protesting the withdrawal of their ration cards." She explained what she was told by the proprietor of the tea shop.

"And that means what?" He took a sip of the hot tea.

"We won't be able to go back to York until tomorrow." She tried to say it lightly, but both knew the implications of that. "We could, I suppose, hire a car, or get a taxi…."

The air suddenly tensed around them. "…or stay the night in town?" He finished her thought.

"Yes." She said, reaching for her cup. Only he could see the slight tremor as she brought it to her lips. "We could do that."

XX

_So should they make the next move? Reviews are life! And I really do mean that! _

_The "dead man's penny"info available on The Great War web site under memorials (fanfic won't let me link it) _


	19. Chapter 19: At the Hotel Dorchester

This chapter is rated M. It is March 1919

_"I've been told the trains are all running late. On account of the railway men protesting the withdrawal of their ration cards." She explained what she was told by the proprietor of the tea shop._

_"And that means what?" He took a sip of the hot tea._

_"We won't be able to go back to York until tomorrow." She tried to say it lightly, but both knew the implications of that. "We could, I suppose, hire a car, or get a taxi…."_

_The air suddenly tensed around them. "…or stay the night in town?" He finished her thought._

_"Yes." She said, reaching for her cup. Only he could see the slight tremor as she brought it to her lips. "We could do that."_

XX

They sat for a great while at the tea shop. Neither talking nor being silent. They both knew what was on the other's mind. For they were ever the same.

Both wanting and fearing what was about to happen.

It would change their lives but make their future possible.

The obvious next step.

They would spend the night together. Give the grounds needed to Carlisle to divorce Mary.

She knew the consequences. Potentially disastrous. Potentially the best thing she'd ever do.

Was Matthew ready?

Mary sat forward, asked "Have you spoken to your mother of us? Of what happened? Of our plans?"

Matthew gave a heavy exhalation. "I did. She's a busy woman to pin down nowadays. But she had arrived back from her Red Cross work in Paris but was about to depart again to join Mr. Hoover's Food Relief program in Belgium but over Christmas I finally had the chance."

He looked at Mary. "She was very sad. She never realized the truth. Said we were unthinking and foolish and paid a heavy price. But she spoke no recriminations." He paused. "Then she asked where we spent that night. You know, she's the only one ever to ask that question."

"Was that awkward?" Mary looked up from her tea cup.

He snorted nervously. "Rather. Especially when she's boring those inquisitive, direct eyes into my soul. I owned up to the fact that it was in the very room where we were sitting." He admitted, squirming once again in his seat at the mere memory.

"And what did she do?" Mary's voice was tenuous.

And with the first hint of a slight smile, he said, "She laughed."

"What?" Mary was flabbergasted.

He continued "She proceeded to tell me the tale of the tailor of Gloucester's mice. They come in the night to finish making a waistcoat. But they left one buttonhole undone and a note, 'no more twist.' The tailor had no idea what or who had finished the sewing."

"What?" Mary was perplexed. "Why would she say that?"

"Because we left clues, my darling. Some ash in the grate. Misplaced blankets in the closet. A chair too close to the fire." He explained with some hand gestures. "She and Mrs. Bird could not figure it out. So they decided it must have been either the most peculiar of burglars or Miss Potter's mice." He grinned rather dolefully.

"I did try to put everything back in order." Mary said in a defensive humour. "But every house has a different way of organizing their linens." She looked over her teacup. Matthew had stopped smiling. "My love what's wrong?"

He leaned forward for privacy. "I have such wonderful memories of that night. Our love making. Getting to know the real you. But then I remember how I left things. Leaving you all alone." His face reflected his despair.

"You never intended to." She refused to let Matthew wallow. "Events got out of our control. You had to return to France. I don't blame you for anything."

He closed his eyes in discomfort. "I don't know at all that I deserve your forgiveness." He opened them up again. "Or to be as happy as I am right now." He clasped her hand over the table. "You've brought me back to life."

"We shall be even happier when we're together." Mary smiled. "We deserve it I think."

He nodded. "I want the same." He took another bite of his cake and sat back in the chair. "So I shall go make registration? At the hotel next door?"

Mary hesitated.

"So Isobel? She supports us?" Mary needed to know she had her future mother in law's endorsement of what they were about to do. "In any divorce proceedings."

Matthew gave a deep inhalation. "She knows we wants to be together. And that we're adults. She has no say, no control over these matters. But she loves us both dearly, and desires our happiness."

Mary brought his hand to her cheek. "Then we should?"

"We should." He brought her own hand to his lips. The doorbell jangled behind him.

She glanced around surreptitiously. "We might be being watched right now." Mary shivered. "Richard has spies everywhere."

"In Dorchester?" Matthew raised a doubtful eyebrow. "You never can tell." His eyes shifted around the room.

"He hates you, you know." Mary noticed Matthew couldn't help but smirk at that. He sat just a bit more easy in his seat.

"Good." His sly smile was contagious.

"You are horrible." Mary rejoined.

"But you love me anyway." The cheeky reply.

"Madly." The honest truth, Mary could no longer deny it.

They continued to sit pleasantly. Neither wanting to spoil the moment.

Matthew poured another cup. "What was Sir Richard's reaction to the newspaper article? The one the _Daily Express_ ran last summer? I only saw a copy of it after the Armistice. Robert showed it to me. I had honestly forgotten all about it when I went back to training."

"You mean the one that had a glowing account of convalescent care of our brave soldiers at Downton Abbey where said owner of the _Express_ was given a personal tour by the disarmingly charming heir of the estate Major Matthew Crawley, MC?" She grinned wickedly back at him.

"That's the one…." His face was positively pleased. He popped the last piece of cake in his mouth. "Did he take it well?"

"No, he did not." Mary gave him the expected answer. "He threw it across the room and stormed out."

Matthew chortled gleefully. "It went down rather well with the Dowager Countess though. Violet took me aside and said it came with a great relief I restored myself to the family honour."

"So we have a clear path?"

"As much as we ever are going to." Matthew concluded. "The next move is all ours."

So to that end, Matthew pushed his chair back and got up. "I'll be right back." And he gently glided his fingers along her bare wrist as he left the table.

Mary was left with her thoughts. Did she have doubts as well?

And surprising even herself, she had to say with confidence that no she did not. Her body betrayed any doubt she might tell herself she should have. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. His lips upon hers.

She'd have to make sure he understood the limits of what they could do. They had spoken in vague terms about any sexual encounter they might have. He said he understood, but it might be up to her to slake his desire. Just sitting across from him, the ache Matthew barely controlled was palpable to her. His touch as he left, indicative of it.

He wanted her. And she knew it.

She was no longer the naïve girl he had first made love to in 1915. The war had changed her as much as him. She was harder, stronger. Life had made her that way.

She also knew herself more. And what she wanted. And what she couldn't have. At least not right now.

Matthew returned through the door. He motioned to her as he paid up their bill. She followed him out of the shop.

"I've got us a room at the Hotel Dorchester." Matthew said.

Mary nodded and followed him inside the neat establishment and up the staircase to the second landing. Their room was towards the back, looking down onto a small garden. The room felt cold and damp.

Mary shivered. It did not bode well. The chamber was cramped and they could hardly move around each other.

Matthew helped Mary off with her coat. "The upper house maid will be in to do the fire." He tacitly realized her disappointment. Was it beginning to feel a bit sordid?

He rubbed his jawline. Was he forcing her to do something she did not desire? Was she doing this just for him?

They retired to the chairs beside the window as the girl put the coal in the grate and got the fire blazing. She asked if they needed anything else, but if not she'd be in later to take down the bedding.

"No need." Mary said firmly. "We'll be fine." The last thing they wanted was to be interrupted.

The girl left.

Mary walked up to the fire. Put her hands out. The heat felt good. She felt Matthew behind her. His arms encircling her waist. His hot breath against the nape of her neck.

She leaned into his body.

"Not exactly the Savoy." He spoke quietly. "Will you be comfortable?" He couldn't help the doubt creeping into his voice.

She turned in his embrace. Ran her hand along his cheek, "Anywhere you are, I will be comfortable my love."

The kiss was cleansing. Purging them of any negative thoughts that nagged at the edges of their minds. It drew them together, their passion, their need. As the kiss became harder, his lips began to push further into her own. He coaxed open her mouth with his tongue. Firm, wonderful and soft his lips played around hers. His tongue danced and felt inside her mouth.

Matthew pulled away to gather Mary in his arms. "My darling. My darling. Are we actually to do this? Do you know what it means? How you might suffer?"

"How long must we wait? Like lost luggage at King's Cross?" She tore away from him to sit by the fireplace. "I know what is in store. We're going to force my husband's hand and make him insist upon a divorce." Mary was calm. Cool even. She was about to commit adultery with the man she loved to get rid of the man she loathed.

Yes, she was astonishingly calm about it all. "Richard believed himself to always have the upper hand in our marriage. That he saved me from a fate worse than death, by rescuing me from scandal…"

Matthew blanched.

She pulled him down next to her. Insisted he place his hands close to her bosom. "But he was wrong. I am saving myself from just such a fate. To be tied permanently to a man I do not love. You are helping me. You are my Perseus after all."

He cracked an uneven smile, looking up at her from where he knelt. "Bit of a tarnished knight at arms really."

"My gallant soldier." She kissed him gently on his soft lips. "My own Matthew."

And they were lost to each other.

They rested in front of the fire, collecting its warmth. He stroked her arm, her face. Inevitably his hands roamed towards the back of her gown. She turned so Matthew's fingers nimbly, slowly unbuttoned the ties that bound her dress. Mary wore no corset so as the stiff material gave way in Matthew's hands he undid the last of the buttons and brought his lips to her bare skin. Her skin tingled and she trembled.

Matthew's hands snaked around inside the now semi opened dress. They came around her waist and up towards her breasts. He kissed the curve of her back and shoulders as his hands began to caress each nipple. He knew just how to touch her. To make each sensation, each stroke have her ache for more. Like an addiction, she needed his fingers massaging, kneading. Mary's mouth opened and she moaned in delight.

"That's more like it." She whispered in his ear. Her body was limp in his arms. His mouth came around her shoulders and sent light kisses along her neck line. She leaned further towards him and their lips met.

Their mouths met with a passion built up for over two years. His mouth fell upon hers, gripping her lips hard and insistent. His fingers continued their rhythmic stroking of her nipples. Each tug making her groan faster and with a wild abandon. The dress was constricting his action and he shoved it completely off her shoulders and the material gathered around her slightly open thighs. She shivered in the chill, and his arms wrapped her up in his heat.

She murmured softly in appreciation. She luxuriated in his touch as his fingers roamed all over her body. His hands next moved towards her hair. His hands sought the pins that constricted his need to run his fingers through her unruly locks. He had dreamed of doing so night after night in the trenches. Could this be real? Is this happening? Matthew's memory, unbidden turned back towards those dark nights in his dugout. The rain dripping, endless and monotonous. The guns, hammering and popping, disrupting the air with deafening intensity.

The contrast between that mud soaked night and this bliss made Matthew mad with joy. He removed the pins and Mary's hair cascaded down just as he had imagined in his mind's eye. She was cradled in his arms so the tendrils spilled over his forearms, his wrists. Her eyes opened and sought out his. Matthew's eyes were to hers hooded and dark with desire. She drank in his open desire. His wanting of her.

She parted her lips slightly. She knew she was staring at him but she didn't care. She wanted him to know how much she was a part of his life. His being. They were one. He bent down and they kissed again and again. His hands tracking down her body shimmying her completely out of the gown. Her kisses grew with greater urgency as her body responded to his touch. She flicked and flickered in desire. She wanted him naked as well. So Mary, with more determination than she thought possible, released his hands from her body. Sat up and began to open his jacket and waistcoat. Tugged at the sleeves of his shirt as she finished undoing all the buttons. It came off and she greedily took in his revealed body. It was tighter, leaner than she remembered. The war had done that. His body also showed the many signs of wear and tear each battle had taken upon him. The scars and white patches of bruised skin demanded her tender care.

She instinctively moved him down onto the carpeted floor near the fireplace. Opened his shirt completely and began to kiss each of his scars. To touch his taut abdomen as she felt the gooseflesh grow with each stroke. To hear his strangled breath as he sought air with each of her kisses. Her hands roamed down further and she felt the bulge of arousal in his trousers. He convulsed slightly as her fingers slowly felt its length, its need.

Intuitively she knew what he wanted. Just as he knew what she did.

They wanted each other. In every way. Yet they could not. This night was theirs. And theirs alone. But it had limits. Each knew what they were.

Matthew slowly sat up, amazed he even had the presence of mind to do that. Mary's mouth, her fingers were sending him into paroxysms of desire. It threatened to overwhelm his emotional stability. He stood up, his bad leg shuddering, fighting him. But he reached down and clasped Mary's hands. She joined him, standing upright and letting him lean on her a bit.

"Let's go over to the bed." Matthew said, his breath still ragged from her kisses.

They walked the short distance from the fireplace to the bed. Mary pulled down the blankets as Matthew slid off his trousers and socks. They sought each other's heat again in the cold of the sheets. Matthew leaned against the pillows. Mary's head crooked in his shoulder.

"Can you believe we are actually here? It seems so unreal? As if I'll wake and find myself back in France." Matthew's voice was distant, dreamlike.

"We are here, my darling. I want to be no other." Mary's finger traced the outline of his nipple, making him giggle slightly. Bringing him back to this place and time.

"I know. Me either. It's almost too perfect to believe." Matthew's hands moved her more tightly towards him. So he could feel her against him. Skin to skin. To feel her heart beat against his chest. Her warmth. Her love. Her very being. He needed the sensation of physical touch. Of knowing she was really there. For him to love.

He never wanted to let go. "Mary…."

"Yes…" she whispered.

"Nothing. I just wanted to say your name. To know that I can say your name, and you will respond. It's no longer a figment of my dreams." The wonder in his voice made her ache.

"I will always be here for you now." She felt his arms tighten around her. He kissed the top of her head.

She then felt those same muscles tense. He spoke in a clearer tone, "You know you'll have to speak of this in open court. If Carlisle actually does bring suit, there will be a court case. You will have to stand in open court and be cross examined by his lawyers A husband can petition for divorce on sole grounds that his wife has committed adultery." He took a breath. "The adulterer is also named as co-respondant."

Mary looked up at him. "That would be me." He finished. "I might also have to take the stand. In any event it will be open for all to see. The newspapers. The court journalists."

"I see." Mary responded calmly. "I know."

"One other thing… " Matthew was not quite sure still how to bring this up. "Adultery means the sexual act. The act of voluntary sexual relations that includes intercourse." He blinked rapidly as Mary's eyes gazed steadily into his.

"And if we don't …." Mary now knew why he was bringing this up.

"It would still be infidelity. And scandalous. But not the legal definition of adultery." He pulled his hair unconsciously over his head. Rubbed his scalp. "I know we want to be together. And I do so want you…"

"But we cannot risk the possibility of another pregnancy." Mary ended that sentence. "At least not until this is all over and we're married." His tousled blonde locks, falling so decadently down his forehead was distracting her from the serious discussion at hand. "Right now I just want to get on with this…" And she climbed over his body and pulled him down for a deep, penetrating kiss.

"We'll just have to explore other ways…" He was relenting, his breaths coming in quick pants as she moved her tongue in greedy circles around his mouth.

"And lie if we have to." She determined. "I'm not afraid to. If it gets us what we want."

Any protest Matthew might have made was drowned as his mouth was engaged in other, more delicious activities than talking. His hand slipped down the curve of her waist to her hips, then her soft derriere. Its curves made him hard and aroused. He groaned softly as she moved into position. He could feel her grinding against him, her own moans indicating the waves of pleasure as she clutched at his skin, pinching and clawing her fingernails. Everything else was blotted out, she felt his hardness, wanted it in her. His tongue was back in her mouth sliding and slipping.

Hungry for her, but knowing his limits he hesitated. But she had escaped any notion of denial and maneuvered his body so that his length plunged into her open thighs with an escaping breath of need fulfilled.

Matthew jerked in excitement. He quickened his motions even as she writhed above him. Whimpers escaped her lips. Her fingers clutched more tightly against his skin, leaving scar marks. She hissed with need.

Just as he felt the first wave of climax, though he released himself from her body.

Mary lurched in surprise. She gasped at her unfilled expectations. She felt empty of him. Going completely on instinct, she shimmied down his body and took him in her mouth. Matthew had a rush of torturous pleasure fill his body, his mind. He could do nothing as he writhed in a dizzying haze of desire. She pulled and sucked and he screwed his eyes shut and puffed out short gasping breaths with each wave of unbearable, engorged, bursting need.

His climax was intense, explosive. Mary felt the waves of pulsation grip his member. Their hands had clasped together somehow and they rocked back and forth against each other. The audible, ragged gasps of his breath told her he was senseless, open to nothing but the pleasure she was giving him.

She let go of his hands. Moved up again toward his face. His body hot, damp, heaving from the exertion. The sheets sticky. He slowly recovered. His arms encircled her against his chest.

"Oh Mary…." He could hardly still speak. She was shocked at her own behavior. Hardly knowing what she was doing, it was a natural urge to complete his satisfaction. This was the only way she could have shown him just how much she loved him. She would not have him go wanting.

Only slowly did she become aware he intended the same for her. He gently moved her away from his body and towards the other side of the bed. She lay down on the pillows. He traced her skin with his fingers. So slight, so tenderly he barely touched her. But it left her wanting more. Every fibre of her was on fire at the moment. She had never done anything so daring, so passionate. The heightened sensation left her body helpless to whatever he had in store.

He was pleasuring her in the most exquisite of ways. First circling her breasts with his fingers, then his lips. Stroking them. Her blood rose in her chest with every pinch. Then he moved down and kissed her belly button. He nudged open her thighs and her hips instinctively jerked. She felt his mouth on her, his tongue caressing her most sensitive, most private part. She relaxed and tightened as his mouth made her shiver and lurch. She lost herself in his motions. Waves of bliss, of pleasure, of satiation filled her body. She wanted it never to end. She felt deliciously alive. His hands on her arse, coaxing her up so that he could fill her some more. She never believed it possible, but another wave crashed against her body and she fell back against the sheets, aching as the last sweet spasm shook her. Made her feel decadently lethargic. Nothing else mattered at the moment.

Nothing but Matthew. But this time with him.

Matthew felt her climax. He kissed her inner thighs, her hips, her stomach as he made his way back into her arms. They lay, without the need to speak or hear, for many minutes. He rested his head against her chest. Heard her rapid heart beating. Knowing he had made her feel so much pleasure as he could possibly give her.

Until she wanted him to give her more. He felt no shame, no guilt in their actions. If this be scandal, so be it. They were meant to be together.

"I fear we've crossed the Rubicon, my love." He said, her ear being tickled by his breath. "No going back now."

"I never want to go back." She said. "How can I possibly ever go back to him now? Even until this is all over?" Sudden despair took her.

Matthew's arms encircled her protectively. "We'll keep you away from him. But.. …"

Mary looked concerned. She knew what he was thinking. "How are we to proceed? To cause him to bring his suit?"

"I honestly don't know." He admitted. "We'll have to show ourselves in the open next. To cause him to gain suspicions. So essentially we must draw him to us. You must invite him to Downton so that he can see us together."

The plan took shape in Matthew's mind. "Let him come for a week end. We'll find a way." He drew her close. Her perfume was intoxicating. "But not right now…Let's not talk about that anymore…"

"Let's not." Mary's voice suddenly dark and husky as Matthew's fingers went exploring down her torso once again. "We've much better things to do…."

XX

_As always please tell me what you think._

_As we'll see events at Downton will come as a shock as Mary and Matthew return to a house in upheaval… the flu has struck. And all is not good…. _


	20. Ch 20:The Crawley Family Still Stands

_We pick up after Mary and Matthew's night at Dorchester_

XX

"My Lord," Carson's words addressed Matthew as soon as he walked beyond the front hall.

The house sounded vacant, Matthew had first thought as he walked through the door. Usually in the mornings there was a bevy of house parlour maids all over the first floor rooms. They chatted as they moved about swiftly cleaning and polishing.

Today no one was there. He knew something was wrong immediately. Mrs. Hughes would never allow such slackness. Instinctively he went on alert. His eyes darted around. As at the front after the all quiet at stand to. Preternaturally, he had learned to trust his sixth sense of vigilance. That something… he couldn't quite put his finger on it…but something was wrong.

And it usually was. An explosion would follow. Or sniper fire.

He had it here, now, at Downton Abbey.

And then he saw Carson. Looking as if the world had fallen out from beneath his feet.

And it had. It most certainly had.

"What…what did you say?" Matthew's voice quavered. His leg began to shake. He gripped his cane harder. "Where's Robert? What's happened?" The questions sharply asked.

He looked around, started to move but didn't know where to go.

Carson led the suddenly ashen young man towards a seat near the fire.

"Lord Grantham died this morning, sir." Carson's monotone voice belied the emotions beneath. His eyes were blank. As if he hadn't slept.

As if no one in the house had slept.

Matthew stared at Carson. "Dead?" He blinked. "What?"

Carson let the information sink in.

Matthew's tone was hushed, disbelieving. "I thought he had gone to York? To his regimental dinner?" Matthew asked as he took a seat. He didn't trust his leg to keep him upright.

"Yes and came back feverish. No one knew until last night when he took a turn for the worse. By the time Dr. Clarkson was called, it was too late. He died at 4:15am."

Matthew blinked rapidly. "Was… was the family with him?" He bit his lip. Robert? Dead? How …. He put his head in his hands. "Has… Has Lady Mary been informed?"

"Yes. Her Ladyship, Lady Mary and Lady Edith were all in the room with Lord Grantham." Carson informed him.

Matthew's head shot up. "She's already back here?"

"She arrived by hired car after Her Ladyship telephoned to apprise her of the situation." Carson said. "Lady Edith tried to telephone earlier. But was informed that Lady Mary was not in." Carson looked at Matthew speculatively. "She left with you I believe? A few days ago." He gave Matthew an appraising glance.

"We had some trouble with the trains. There's a strike on the railway line…." Matthew trailed off. He really didn't have to defend himself to Carson. "I left her in London."

Matthew made a shaky move to stand back up.

"There is more bad news. Lady Sybil is herself ill and is secluded from all the family." Carson's voice showed his worry.

Matthew's voice was now heavy with concern and dread. "Has Dr. Clarkson seen her?"

"Yes. She's past the worst. I'm afraid I must also inform you that several members of staff are also under the weather. Sgt. Barrow seems to have it rather critically."

Carson then said, "We will have to hire some temporary help from outside. I waited for your approval, My Lord."

Matthew rubbed his forehead. Every time Carson called him 'My Lord' he flinched. It was not his time. Robert was supposed to earl for years to come.

He knew the flu had hit the army hard in late 1918 and had thence run rampant throughout the world.

And now it's made its presence known in Downton.

Thank God Mary had found her way to be there for her father. He'd have to be careful in approaching her in front of her family. His instinct was to go to her. To comfort her.

But he would have to keep his distance.

After their unexpected night in Dorchester, they had tried to leave for York late the following morning. But a series of delays kept them from a quick return.

First, they slept in as neither got much sleep the night previous. After their love making, Matthew had gone out of the room while Mary called in the house maid to change the bedding and help her with some nightly ablutions. He had gone to the local pub where he sat for about an hour having a pint and a smoke. Something so banal, so commonplace. Yet something he appreciated. Everything after the war took on special significance.

The simple pleasure of being at peace. Things he did not believe he'd ever do again.

To sit, smoke, and know that he had a future.

A future, indeed, with Mary. They still had a great deal to do, but it was there for them.

He returned to their room after completing his own washing up in the bath down the hall. They had made love again then slept, spooned together. Neither wanting to release the other's touch.

They woke enwrapped naked in each other's arms. He breathed her scent. She leaned into his torso.

"Should we get going?" He murmured. She demurred, "later." And snuggled closer.

So they had gotten a late start. And then the delays. They had to switch trains twice. Finally arriving in London late in the day.

Matthew had left Mary around the corner from her town house. "I will stay tonight at my club. Then travel back …or try to… to Downton tomorrow."

Mary nodded quickly. She stated without tone, "Richard will be back Friday. I won't know when I can make it to York again."

Matthew looked desolate. "I know," his voice hollowed out. He looked around the empty street, then kissed her lightly. "We'll make this work."

Mary walked swiftly away from him. If she had done otherwise, she'd might never leave his arms again.

Matthew had nothing but delays on his way back north. Spending the night at his club, he ended up being diverted on the train towards Manchester. Exhausted, he spent the night with some friends of his mother's still living down the street from their old house.

Finally, he arrived in Downton Village. He bathed and changed at Crawley House, his mother absent but Molesley and Mrs. Bird in residence. They had continued to let in the ex-soldiers for a meal so he had helped out with the evening dinner and did some bill paying and accounting in the evening.

So the arrival at Downton came when he had very little sleep.

Only to have Carson give him the worst possible of news when he was in no fit state to take it all in. His leg was throbbing. He was beat from travel, hardly knowing where he was or the day of the week.

The two men remained standing with Matthew gathering his thoughts.

"Have any arrangements been made?" He asked, making a move towards the library. "Do I need to make any calls?"

"I waited for your approval, My Lord. We usually use the firm of Grasby's of Thirsk in these situations. They're very good and will come on a Sunday."

Was it Sunday? Matthew thought. He nodded agreement. These decisions were his now. The responsibility as well.

"If you get them on the line, I'll speak with them." Matthew started to open the library door.

"Mr. Crawley…" Carson slipped as he interrupted the younger man "….I mean M' Lord…"

"Yes?" Matthew's hand stayed on the handle.

"Sir Richard is waiting in the library." And as he suspected, the hand came away from the door.

Matthew hoped Carson missed the slight tremor. He turned and took a step back away from the door.

"Sir Richard?" He swallowed hard. "Here?" His eyes started to dart back and forth. What the hell? Matthew thought, didn't Mary tell him her husband wasn't back until Friday? And now it's Sunday …damn.

"He hired the car for Mary and insisted upon accompanying her as it was in the middle of the night." Carson explained. Back room gossip had reached the butler's ears about Matthew's intentions towards Mary.

The two men eyed each other. Matthew, surprised but also encouraged by noticing the sympathy in the butler's eyes.

"Right." Matthew said, his hand firmly back on the door handle. "I'll take the call from Grasby's as soon as you reach them." And he walked into the library.

"Sir Richard" Carson heard Matthew say, his voice as calm and detached "It was very good of you to hire a car so that Lady Mary could be with her father…" The door closed behind him.

Carson walked towards the green baize door downstairs. He had reservations in the past about whether the earldom would be in good hands. A middle class lawyer with a chip on his shoulder. Certainly Matthew had been an officer in the war, a Military Cross honoree. But he had been also been a shattered man for months now.

But he no longer had any such misgivings.

He now was firm that Matthew would do his duty by Downton as Earl of Grantham. He would take the mantle of responsibility and it might just give him the purpose in life he had been seeking.

The butler wasn't sure at all he should approve of the illicit affair that was most obviously going on between Lady Mary and her erstwhile fiancée, but it was clear that Matthew would only be truly happy if Lady Mary was by his side as Countess.

He wished them well in the pursuit of that goal.

XX

Matthew's head was spinning, but he gave every indication of utter coolness. He put on his command face. The one he used in the lines when they were about to go over the top and he had to sound confident that his men were all well trained and would survive the onslaught to come.

It had been a lie.

And it was here as well.

A lie.

"Sir Richard, it was very good of you to hire a car so that Lady Mary could be with her father…"

His voice was impassive as he spoke to Richard rather than contradict the reality that he was barely holding it all together. Not only the news about Robert, but being in the same room with the cuckolded husband of the woman he had so recently made love to. It was now impossible to move immediately to their plan of being together. Matthew could not reveal anything that might give them away. Not until the moment was right.

Matthew looked at Richard up through his downcast eyes, assessing the man before him.

Richard gave no sign of knowing. But he was a master of the deceptive as well.

"I will be taking a few telephone calls, so forgive me if I cannot give you my full attention." Matthew said, pouring himself a drink despite the early morning hour.

"As you will." Carlisle answered smoothly. "I thought I should do my bit by taking Mary. It's a tricky disease. Robert was a good man , but out of his depths," Richard had to add caustically. "With these modern times. He'd have been a dinosaur. Of course the whole aristocracy is for the rubbish heap from a political perspective." He sniffed slightly.

Then Richard added, "Of course, good for you." The smooth tone turning ever so slightly cutting.

Matthew's fingers gripped the glass tightly in his hand. He would not rise to Carlisle's bait.

"Robert was one the most decent, kind hearted men I've ever met." Matthew astringently observed. "He deserved to live a full life. It's terrible for the family."

"Tragic as you say." Richard obliged, but he could not resist, "I'm surprised to hear you say it however. Given that he wanted you to keep your distance as you shamed the Crawley name."

"Robert was not apprised of the truth of the matter." Matthew said in as cold a tone as he could muster. "Your newspapers exaggerate and falsify the truth."

Matthew put his glass down onto the silver tray with a thud. "We came to an understanding when everything was revealed. I did not shirk any responsibility."

"You sucked up to him to get into his good graces again." Richard smirked. "I suppose if an earldom was at stake, I'd probably have done the same thing." He boasted, "Robert appreciated my scruples regarding saving Mary from your disgraceful dalliance with the widow of a war hero."

Matthew bristled. "You impugned the name and reputation of an innocent woman to sell papers. Don't talk to me about morality."

"You abandoned Mary." Richard was biting. "I don't back down from a fight. Especially if a woman is involved."

Matthew's eyes sliced ice cold. "I never abandoned her. You took advantage of her delicate state…"

"Who put her in that?" Richard's sotto voiced accusation put Matthew over the edge.

"You pompous ass." Matthew finally spit out. His intense grip on his cane caused it to shake. He would not sit down in front of Richard. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "You used Mary to access to the upper echelons of the aristocracy. You lie and deceive people for personal gain."

At that moment Mary strode into the library. Her glare was directed solely at Matthew.

"Do you realize you can be heard all over the house? What about respecting the dead. My father is upstairs, his body not yet even removed from the house. My mother is in tears."

She was visibly trembling.

Matthew realized Richard had baited him into making a scene. Something Mary loathed.

He started to reach out to her, call out "My darling, I'm so sorry…" Then bit his tongue and stopped himself before the words actually formed on his lips. He could not say them.

She was not his. Not in the eyes of the law anyway.

Instead they gazed upon one another. Her eyes wild yet so tired. His guilt ridden for making her anymore upset.

The gaze lasted only a second or two. But it said all it needed to say.

Mary turned to see that Richard had taken it all in. But she had no time to consider what that meant. "I should like to know who will be writing his memorial for the papers. The family wants final say in any obituary."

Richard's smooth reply, "Yes, of course my dear."

Both men properly chastised, the room became very quiet.

At that moment the telephone rang. Matthew, grateful for the distraction, walked towards the desk. "I believe that will be Grasby's on the line. I must take this."

Mary nodded. "Do what you must. I will be upstairs checking on Sybil." And without another word to either, she left the room.

XX

Matthew sat in the chair at the writing desk in the library. He was struggling with the memorial. He would have to consult Violet on certain details of the Crawley family and Grantham line. She was expected any minute.

The funeral director had come and gone and the undertakers were expected within the hour. The arrangements made for an internment in the family plot at St. Michaels and All Angels as soon as the family could gather together. Robert's North Riding regiment had been informed as well as Buckingham Palace. They were expecting several friends of Lord Grantham's traveling from Westminster and his London clubs.

Matthew had been on the telephone all afternoon. As Cora was with Edith and Mary standing guard over Sybil it was up to himself to get all the arrangements in order. And as the new Earl it was expected he'd inform the Lord Chancellor, the Speaker of the House of Lords as well as certain members of Parliament and the royal family.

His head was pounding. The encounter with Richard had unsettled him. The innuendo against Margaret and Mary. His snide comment about how Matthew had insinuated himself back into Robert's good graces.

His guilt weighed heavy on his heart as it was.

But he had overcome his dishonor with a level of honesty and candor that had served him well with those he believed he had harmed. Margaret had always maintained she was equal partner in their night together no matter how much his sense of decency demanded he take all the blame. She was now, she had written Matthew just recently, happier than she would ever have thought returning home to America and finding new work at the British Embassy in Washington.

Robert had forgiven him. Their relationship in the past months had been very close. If he didn't quite bring himself to approve of Matthew and Mary's feelings towards each other outside the bounds of marriage, he acknowledged the truth of the situation. Matthew made every effort to work on estate matters with Robert, learning the functioning of the farms and business end of tenancy. He had put off returning to any legal work as a result. Before the war the job was to have something to do. To continue to think he was his own man.

Now that did not seem as important. He needed to show Robert loyalty.

And recover from the war. It was more difficult than he expected. The near constant pain of his leg. And the nightmares and flashback images of soldiers he had killed or friends who had been wiped out in front of his eyes would not go away. They came on him unexpectedly when he was doing the simplest of tasks. He felt his hands go clammy and start to shake. He'd blink rapidly and feel completely disoriented and disconnected from the world around him. Everything slowed down or sped up. So the calm of the life at Downton was a balm to the troubles of his soul.

Mary, of course, claimed he had nothing to forgive. And that now they were together, if not in law than in heart and love, he had believed the next months would see them finalizing her divorce and moving on into married life.

He had wanted it more than life itself. He needed it. It was there, right in front of them in Dorchester. They had dived into their affair with both feet, knowing the potential for even more scandal. Neither had cared. Matthew never felt more alive than he was that night with Mary. Every nerve ending was afire. Every kiss burning his lips. Their exploration of love making without intercourse had been extraordinarily arousing.

And now they were faced with months delay. Mary's grief was so raw, so real. Cora was a virtual recluse. The family had been torn asunder by Robert's sudden death.

Matthew was desperate to see Mary, but dared not in front of Richard. He didn't trust himself not to reveal even more than they already had. There was every indication Richard would return to London and his newspapers and return for the funeral.

Matthew certainly hoped so. He heard voices in the main hall and got up to greet Mary's grandmother.

"Oh, Carson." He heard Violet say to the butler. Her voice quiet and sad.

"Good afternoon, my Lady." Carson had been a rock for Matthew. He must be exhausted. And no time himself to mourn.

"We've seen some troubles, you and I." Violet said to the butler.

"Nothing worse than this." Carson replied, "Nothing could be worse than this, my Lady."

Violet crossed the floor, her stick marking its place unsteadily on the carpet. But determined she was to make it on her own. Her steps slow, her gait heavy with grief and pain.

A mother was not supposed to outlive her son.

Matthew greeted her. "Shall I walk with you upstairs? Or do you want me to fetch Cousin Cora downstairs?" He wasn't at all sure she could make it of her own volition.

"Thank you my boy. But I will walk on my own to sit with my son until the undertakers come to take him." Violet was strong. Matthew nodded and followed behind her.

"We all look to you now, Matthew." She said taking the steps one at a time. "You're head of the family. Are you ready?" She stopped to look at him. He appeared still so young.

Matthew replied without hesitation, "You can count on me Cousin Violet. I will spend the rest of my life doing what's best for Downton."

She patted his shoulder. "I know you will." And then she surprised him once again, although Matthew hardly knew why for Violet always knew what was going on in the family.

Violet turned to look directly at him on the lower step.

"Just how are we to get rid of that odious husband of Mary's so that you two can finally stop this charade and be together?" And she arched her eyebrows in expectation.

XX

Please as always tell me your thoughts. This story is very close to my heart...

_I thought that was enough to take in right now._

_I'll finish this section of the story this week end and it will propel the story forward and will be sad. The next chapter in particular will potentially devastate Matthew just when he thought it could not get worse. We'll pick up with Mary and her mother taking care of Sybil. Tom and Matthew will unite and become friends. But then the flu strikes again… The last part of this section will propel the story into its final act._


	21. Chapter 21: The Future Takes Shape

XX

Mary sat very still on one side of the bed. Her mother, holding Sybil's hand, quiet and stoic sat in the chair on the other side. The tableau was a solemn one. Sybil, in the center of the bed, slept finally after a tumultuous night.

The last days had been quite the worst of Mary's life. There had been nights during the war where the worry for Matthew's safety had threatened to overwhelm her sanity. As the reality of death came home after Loos. On the Somme as she read of the mounting casualties. After she had heard about his leg injury.

When she accepted the hand of another man in marriage.

Matthew was not truly hers to openly show concern. She had to contain it inside.

This was very different. It was all raw and ugly in its brutality. Cora was nearing her end. She had no time to mourn her husband as her child was sick.

A child. Her baby. Her Sybil. Everyone's favorite child.

Cora wouldn't let anyone get close. She would shrug off any attempt by Mary to tell her to sleep. She had been so ever since leaving the bedroom she had shared with Robert. She had gone straight to Sybil's room and has remained there for almost 24 hours.

Upon her arrival at Downton with Richard who had hired a car in London almost as soon as the telephone call from Carson came in, Mary had relieve Edith of sitting with her. Edith was exhausted as she had been with her father throughout his last hours.

Mary, along with her sister and mother, saw her father's last dying breaths. He had grasped Cora's hand and in a ragged, but impassioned tone spoke of his love for her. "Be well, my love. Be strong."

Then he was gone.

Cora, her body slow from grief and exhaustion, kissed his lips. Then stood up and left the room to see to her daughter.

Neither Mary nor Edith could budge her.

"Sybil had been the nurse," She said to Mary. "But we all pitched in so it feels as if we're back in the war." Edith blew some loose hair back atop her head. "I heard from Dr. Clarkson that the next several hours will be the most important for Sybil. If she can hold on, she'll make it through the worst."

And so it had been.

Sybil was sleeping peaceful.

"Mama," Mary tried to convince her mother to rest, "Why don't you sleep. We've set up a room for you right next door. Mrs. Hughes has it ready."

Cora looked up. "Robert?..." Mary didn't know if that was a question or a plea.

She said, "Granny is with him. He's not alone."

Cora then sank back in the chair and continued to hold Sybil's hand.

Mary closed her eyes in acceptance and walked towards the window. The day promised sunshine and warmth despite the chill inside.

Anna was resting and Bates was in her father's dressing room helping to prepare the body. The two were to return to their cottage in the afternoon at Mary's insistence. To rest.

The voices from the library had dulled.

Matthew had been so chastened by her angry outburst.

She met his eyes. They mirrored her sorrow.

She felt regret later. How awkward it must have been for him to be in the same room as Richard so unexpectedly and under these most horrific circumstances.

He had held her naked in his arms just mere hours ago.

They had been so happy.

So much in love. They had felt the love. She had certainly. In the rise of his body to meet her need. His fingers delicate. His hands roaming. His tongue audacious.

How she had felt every shared breath of desire. His concentration upon her pleasure.

Did Richard catch their glance?

Did she care anymore?

She hardly felt anything. Not today, nor yesterday. The outburst against Matthew and Richard had been as much against herself as the two men. She had rushed out her sister's room and down the stairs in righteous anger. She could say she had done so on behalf of the family.

But it was also because she needed a release of all the pent up emotions left howling inside her. She felt as if she was to explode. And the men were an appropriate target.

She spoke out of haste. It was one of her worst faults. But she seldom felt bad about it later.

She did now. For Matthew's sake. He didn't deserve it. She had to find a way to tell him so.

She scratched out a hasty note on her sister's writing table and went downstairs. Matthew was back at the desk in the library. On the ruse of asking about "How was the memorial coming along?" she slipped a hand around his shoulder and squeezed it.

He tensed and looked up.

Her sad smile, quavering at the tips made him heartsick. "It's making some progress." He answered as his shoulder rose ever so subtlety so that her hand brushed his neck and hairline.

"Here's some more information that might help you." And she removed her hand and gave him the note.

"I'll be back upstairs." And, as Carson was walking in the door, Mary left the room.

Matthew sat back in the chair. Carson needed to know if the family was to eat dinner at the regular time.

Matthew said yes to go ahead and serve it and they would see who would be down.

Carson left.

Matthew looked down at the note from Mary. It was not a list of her father's accomplishments in South Africa but instead

_My love,_

_Forgive me for earlier. My temper got the better of me. I know you're only during your best. I shall remain with mama and Edith upstairs for a little while, but I need to see you. We must find a time to be together. Richard is making plans to return to London tomorrow, so we shall see if an opportunity arises._

_My love for you is eternal, _

_Mary_

Matthew curled the note in his hand. He placed it in his pocket. He smiled.

He'd answer her later. Carson had walked back into the room.

"My Lord," He intoned.

Matthew screwed his eyes shut again. He'd just have to get used to it. "Yes Carson."

"The chauffeur," Carson's tone was clearly displeased to be giving this message. "Mr. Branson wishes to speak with you. He is in quite some distress and wishes to know about Lady Sybil's progress."

Matthew was not surprised. He knew about the relationship between Sybil and Tom. Mary had spoken of it to him in Dorchester. How Robert had become an obstacle to their happiness and they threatened to elope.

Well Matthew had different views about such things.

"Yes, please send him in." He had not had much interaction with Tom except as a driver to and from Crawley House when he visited with his mother. During the war none at all. And he tended to walk or drive himself these days around the village and estate so this would give him an opportunity to meet who, in all probability and God willing, will be his brother-in-law one day.

Carson stumbled and hit his foot against the end of the divan. He ignored it and moved on.

"Carson." Matthew stopped the butler on his way out, "Have you had any sleep? You really must take care of yourself. Especially in these trying days."

Matthew walked over to him. "You are not under the weather?" He looked for any kind of sign of influenza.

"No,…" Carson assured him. "No M'Lord. Just a bit tired. A cup a tea and I'll be right as rain."

Matthew took him at his word.

Carson left and then reopened the door, "Mr. Branson."

Tom walked in a rush towards Matthew. "Sir… Mr. Crawley..."

Carson despaired, clucked, and left the two men to sort out their relationship. Such was what happened when the lines between servant and master blurred. It would not have been tolerated in the old days.

Matthew waited until the door clicked shut. What he had to say to Tom was not for Carson, or anyone's ears.

"First Tom," and Matthew deliberately used the chauffeur's first name. "I believe I can say that as you and Sybil have formed some kind of engagement? Am I correct?"

"Yes." Tom visibly eased. "You are…but…"

"And I am Matthew therefore." He held out his hand to shake Branson's. "We will be related soon enough."

"So you won't stand in our way?" Tom took Matthew's proffered handshake.

"I have no intention of stopping you. Indeed once Sybil is well and truly on the mend, and the time of official mourning is over, we should all be in need of celebration with a wedding." He smiled and offered a seat.

Tom sat down with closed eyes. "She's fine then? No one will tell me what's going on. When will I be able to see her?" He could hardly believe the events of the last days.

"Soon I trust. Dr. Clarkson is checking on her later tonight. He will be here to visit everyone." Matthew tried not to betray his concern over the condition of Sgt. Barrow which continued to be grave.

"Maybe as early as tomorrow. It's a bit delicate, with Cora you understand."

Tom nodded. "Can I pass on my true condolences about His Lordship? We may have had our differences, but he was a good man. A good master."

Matthew agreed. "He was indeed. And even though we both tried his patience greatly," and here he cocked his eyebrow towards Tom, "he was a forgiving man. He'd have come around to you and Sybil eventually."

Tom knew of Matthew's scandalous past with regards to the officer's widow. He also heard downstairs gossip regarding his relationship with Lady Mary. Maybe there was more truth than he knew to that.

A sudden idea came to Matthew. "Have a seat. I'd like to discuss something with you…"

About an hour later Tom left the library with a much better awareness of the standing between the new Lord Grantham and the elder sister of Sybil.

And he knew without a doubt that he and Sybil would soon be wed. He needed to start looking for new work.

But not until after he did a favour for Matthew.

XX

"Sgt. Barrow?" Matthew had gone with Dr. Carson to the former footman's room to observe his condition.

Barrow had died. Dr. Clarkson had just informed him outside the door.

Matthew's shoulders slumped. So much death. Barrow had his troubles some of which Matthew was only vaguely aware. But they had come to respect each other in recent months. Barrow had not returned to his duties as footman, attempting to better himself as he said in business.

But not much had come of his schemes and Matthew was about to offer his job back when the news from Dr. Clarkson came.

He showed the doctor up the stairs to Lady Sybil's room and went back to the library. He could hardly believe it was only 6pm on the same evening of the day he arrived back at Downton.

The day had been endless. After making further arrangements with Grasby's and inquiring with Carson about whether Barrow had any family to inform, Matthew made a move to return to Crawley House. He'd return for dinner at 8pm if for nothing else to take a meal with the family. It would be a small, solemn affair. He also rather hoped to hear that Richard was returning to London.

Probably in the morning. Which meant he'd sleep the night at Downton.

Whether in Mary's room or not, Matthew did not know. He rarely ever visited Downton when Richard stayed in previous years. He would create a task in London or Crawley House in order to be away.

As it would be today. Matthew would eat at Downton, but return to Crawley House for the night. He just didn't want to be around the two of them together.

The dinner was unavoidable.

Matthew also needed to call his mother. He had tried earlier in the day but she had been out. He knew she would return home as soon as she heard the news. Upon re-entering Crawley House, Mrs. Bird and Mr. Molesley approached.

"Mr. Carson telephoned My Lord," Molesley informed. "It's such a tragic set of circumstances."

"Quite." Matthew replied sadly.

He opened a side door, "Mrs. Bird I would love a cup of tea. I need to make a couple of telephone calls so I will be in the morning room for a bit, and then upstairs to change." He turned to Molesley. "There's going to be a great deal to do in the next few weeks. I am also expecting Mrs. Crawley to return very soon."

"Right sir. We're ready. I'll go upstairs to lay out your dinner clothes."

"I'll be up shortly." Matthew nodded and moved into the other room. His mother had returned to her hotel room in Brussels. The line was crackling, but they could communicate.

"Mother." He tried not to yell into the receiver. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, yes." Her clipped voice replied. "I should be back in a few days. Our work is nowhere near done, but we've made a good start with Mr. Hoover…"

"I have some news, Mother. News that you need to hear." Matthew hated to interrupt her, but once Isobel got going on a subject it was difficult to slow her down.

"What is it?" Her voice became concerned.

Matthew swallowed. "Lord Grantham, Cousin Robert… he's dead. Died of the flu very early this morning. Mr. Barrow the footman as well. Sybil is ill but recovering. It's all a bit awful at the moment."

He could hear the gasp of indrawn breath despite the crackles. "My goodness. Robert? What about Cora and the other girls? How sad… how very sad."

"Very sad indeed. Cora is with Sybil. Edith and… and Mary appear fine." It had not even occurred to Matthew that the flu might spread further into the family. That darkened his mood even more.

"And you, my boy?" He heard the concern. "Are you well?"

"Yes Mother." He choked up suddenly. He coughed to hide it, which didn't do anything to assuage his mother. "I'm fine. Really. Just a bit overwhelmed by everything."

"I will be leaving directly. Catch the ferry tomorrow. We'll talk more now. You're ready for it Matthew. You must be." Isobel knew her son too well. He would take on the mantle of responsibility, but he'd feel the weight of it. The burden of living up to a man he respected. The gloom of a life gone to soon. He'd be earl most probably for a very long time to come. But only because of the death of someone in the prime of life.

And then the issue of Mary. She'd not spoken to Matthew about it since his confession of their night together at Crawley House. Everything had fallen into place for Isobel in that moment. Everything that had gone on between them now made sense.

The pair of fools, the two of them. Letting their happiness slip through their fingers rather than grasping it like life itself. She should have been disapproving of their passion. But she had felt it too, once. Reggie in a far off war. She could imagine how need overcame societal norms.

Matthew had explained he had every intention towards marriage. That he thought, he agreed with her, rather stupidly, that he had time. Time to ask Robert's permission on his next leave. Time to settle a date.

And then it had all gone wrong.

There was no such thing as having enough time.

Seize the moment. This was what she was hearing from her son now. When he confessed to her that he and Mary were together again. Despite convention, her marriage, it didn't matter to him. Nothing mattered to him but Mary.

She would do all she could to aid this end. There would sure to be scandal. Richard would not go into the night without a fight.

But Matthew was determined and he said Mary was just the same.

They were still fools in love.

"That sounds good." Matthew replied to his mother on the line. "I will have a car to meet you if you want."

And he could, Isobel thought. Now that he's earl. "No my dear. I will take the train. You have enough on your plate. I'll make my own way and be there most likely either tomorrow night or the next morning."

"Very well." Matthew was about to ring off. "It will be very good to see you again. Until then…"

"My love to Mary and Edith and Cora. I'll see you tomorrow."

And Matthew put the receiver down. He slumped into a chair and started to softly cry. He had not given himself the time to mourn.

He would be strong later.

XX

The dinner came and went, thank God Mary thought. It was bloody awful. Richard and Matthew straining politeness until it threatened to break beneath the weight of it. Violet not eating at all. Branson brought in to drive her home as she insisted she could make the trip to give everyone at Downton one less person to deal with on this tragic night. Edith stayed upstairs with Cora, who refused to leave Sybil's side. A couple of trays were brought up by the temporary staff maids.

Richard made excuses to retire upstairs.

Matthew returned to the memorial writing at the library desk. He said, he hoped casually to Mary "I have some edits I'd like you to bring up to Cora." And he handed some sheets of paper to Mary.

They fixed eyes.

Mary nodded, and then said, "You will be off back to Crawley House? Of course you can spend the night here…now…"

Richard, on the staircase, swiveled around. "Are you coming up?" He asked Mary.

Matthew tensed. Mary noticed.

Matthew said in a loud voice, "No. I feel that I'd be in the way. Carson would fuss and I want all of them to have a good night sleep. So much to do tomorrow. I will be fine in my own room."

Richard continued up the stairs.

Matthew whispered to Mary's own ear, "I can't stay. I just can't…not with him…"

"He'll be in the dressing room." Mary murmured back. "I must go."

"Yes. I'll be taking some notes with me and see you in the morning. Do read the edits." He purposefully looked at her again. And then turned and closed the library door.

Mary looked down at the sheets of paper. The majority were in Matthew's neat handwriting, closely written and on Robert's life. But one stood out.

She pulled it out of the stack and read it quickly.

_My darling, darling Mary,_

_No need for any forgiveness. Let's never have to say that again. We understand each other completely. You are overwhelmed and I want to so be there with you. I have made plans for tomorrow with Tom. We had a good long talk this afternoon and I've let him in a bit to our plans. I'll explain more when we see each other. He will fetch you around 9:30 tomorrow morning on pretense of being needed at the Dower House. I'm sure Cousin Violet won't mind being a part of this conspiracy if she ever finds out. Instead Tom will drive around corner of Crawley House where I will be waiting. He'll drive us to a quiet spot on the estate so we can be together. I do so want to comfort you, my darling. It won't be for very long, but if you agree to this plan I will see you in the morning._

_My love forever,_

_Matthew_

Mary's tears made wet impressions in the paper, blurring Matthew's last words of love.

She would be there no matter what obstacle. Richard was returning to London in the morning. It would be much easier with him gone. Plans could be made.

Life would get better.

XX

The plan came off just as Matthew had hoped. Made simpler by Richard's departure.

They were walking along a bridge in an enclosed part of the back gardens of Downton. The car was down the lane.

Matthew held Mary's hand. She was trembling. He brought her closer. "My love." He murmured as his hands stroked her hair. She buried herself in the folds of his coat. The sobbing subsided only after long minutes.

They sat down at the foot of the bridge, along side a little stream.

"Thank you." She said, "For doing this. How does Tom fit in to your plans?"

"Tom's a good man. I like him. He agreed to help us and not say a word to anyone. In return I'm not going to stand in the way of any marriage to Sybil. We've already discussed a small wedding in the rectory of the local priest in Ripon since Sybil is not of the Catholic faith. When Sybil is well enough. We will attend as their witnesses." He kissed her head through her tresses. "It will give everyone something joyful. I want to help them."

"Me too." Mary said. "I had told Sybil last year to go ahead and declare her love. I want to be there for her." She shook slightly. The wind was chilly, even though she felt stifling in her coat and scarf.

"And then there's us…" Matthew began.

"Yes." Mary said, her head on his shoulder. "What are we to do now? I can't take much more of him. Not now."

Matthew breathed heavily. "I don't know. Granny Violet is on our side, but of course the funeral and the period of mourning must be respected." His head leaned against hers.

They sat in peaceful silence. Mary though continued to tremble.

"Mary are you quite well?" Matthew felt her shaking. He put his bare hand to her forehead. "You're burning up."

"Am I?" She asked vaguely, having a hard time standing back up. "I hardly know…" She slumped against him.

"Mary…" Matthew's ragged voice begged, "Mary. I need to get you back to the house. We need to call Dr. Clarkson…"

"I'm fine…" Mary tried to say, but she was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. "It must just be all the lack of sleep catching up to me…"

But neither believed that.

Matthew lifted her up into his arms, held her shaking body against him as he rushed across the bridge and back to the car.

"Tom." He called out. "We need to get back to the house. Now."

Tom took one look at Mary and understood. The plan had been to take Mary back alone, Matthew returning to Crawley House.

But now Matthew would not leave her. "We will take her back and I'll call the doctor." He gently placed her on the car seat.

"What about you?" Tom asked. "It might look awkward if you were to return with her."

Matthew hesitated, one foot in the car. The other on the gravel just outside.

He got in beside Mary. "I don't care." He hollered over the start of the engine, "let Carlisle be damned. Let everyone be damned. I'm staying with Mary." He looked at Tom. "I'll start being Earl of Grantham as I mean to go on. With Mary by my side."

Tom grinned slightly at Matthew's boldness and put the car into first gear. A change of eras to be sure was about to begin at Downton Abbey.

XX  
tbc


	22. Chapter 22: The Opening Salvo

_She was flying. Her father's hands held her tight as he swung her around. Around and around, she felt like she was floating above the earth._

"_More Papa." She laughed. Laughed so hard she cried. "More!"_

_And her father's hearty chuckle became nothing but an echo..._

XX

Matthew gently lifted Mary out of the car. She was so weak on her feet he did not trust her to walk. She had gotten progressively worse on the drive back to Downton. Tom opened the door then returned to the front seat to put the car back in the garage.

Once inside Anna walked over and quickly assessed situation. She also took in Matthew's wild eyes.

His face expressed not only concern but a grimace of pain because of the weight of carrying Mary on his weak leg.

"Let's get her upstairs." Anna made a motion towards the temporary footman hired by Mr. Carson.

Matthew clutched Mary closer to his body. He vehemently shook his head. Anna understood and the two walked towards the staircase, the footman following close behind at Anna's quick motion to make sure Matthew did not stumble.

She opened Mary's bedroom door and Matthew eased her around the frame and into the room, placing her softly down on the covers.

"She collapsed," he explained in a rush to Anna in a quavering voice. "Tom drove us back here. We need to phone for Dr. Clarkson." He started to unbutton Mary's outside coat until Anna's hand stayed him.

"Sir." She said discreetly. "I'll do that."

Matthew turned, breathing hard. "What?..." Suddenly he realized what he was doing. "Sorry, sorry…" He mumbled and backed off.

The footman, hovering in the doorway, left to tell Carson to call the doctor.

Anna looked over to Matthew who paced back and forth by the fireplace, unconsciously rubbing his thigh.

Anna needed him out of the room. "Maybe you could tell Lady Edith to come up? She's in the library."

Matthew swiveled on his left foot to face Anna. "Of course…" he replied distractedly, but he didn't leave.

"M'Lord," Anna said "I need to get her out of these clothes and into her nightdress."

"Good idea." He agreed. Then it finally dawned on him. "You think I should go." He looked at Mary in the bed. She moaned softly. He pulled on his hair and scratched his skull. "I want to stay."

"Sir…" Anna pursed her lips in concern.

Matthew held up his hand, "I know Anna. I know." He started to walk towards the door. "I don't mean to make a fuss. Or a scene. I just want to be near her."

Anna regarded his haggard face. "I'll let you know when you can come back."

He was about to leave, when Anna inquired sensitively, "Should you call Sir Richard? Inform him Lady Mary's taken ill."

"No." Matthew said. His eyes beetled back and forth, but he was determined. "No I'm not going to call. Not just yet. Let Dr. Clarkson take a look first."

Anna looked alarmed. The two exchanged glances.

"Anna," Matthew finally said, "I think you know the status of my relationship with Lady Mary. I believe she took you into her confidences." When they younger woman nodded, he continued, "I was apart from her when she needed me most. I don't intend to ever do that again. I cannot be in the same room as Sir Richard while Mary is this ill. Therefore we shall wait for Dr. Clarkson's assessment and inform him later."

He put his hand on the door handle. "I don't mean to put you in an awkward position. I will take full responsibility." And he opened the door. He paused and looked back at Anna.

His face was wretched.

Anna knew Matthew a good man. As good as they come. Many nights of his convalescence he had woken up the house with screaming and shouting. Only when Mary was present was he calm.

These past days had seem him once again at his wits end. Mary falling ill threatened to fray the edges of his recently earned peace.

Anna assured him, "We'll see her through this together, sir. We don't need anyone else."

"Thank you, Anna." Matthew said in utter relief. "Thank you so very much."

XX

_The room swirled and swayed. The music was tinny, distant. She eavesdropped on it from above._

_There was a man standing below. _

_She moved down the stairs towards him._

XX

Violet arrived in time for dinner. She sat across from Edith, who played idly with her meal. Cora sat next to her daughter.

None felt like eating. There was no staff in the room given the number of servants under the weather. Carson moved swiftly in and out as he sensed the family needed privacy.

Matthew walked in and took the seat next to Violet. The doctor had called and Matthew spoke to Clarkson outside in the hall before opening the door to the dining room.

The women looked to Matthew for answers. His pale face said all they needed.

"It's the flu." Matthew revealed. "We'll know more later. She's rather bad off, Dr. Clarkson said, but no worse than most are at this stage of the illness."

Violet clucked silently. Cora put down her fork. She said with quiet confidence, "Sybil was much the same. The morning will tell us more."

The family had scattered so much lately that Matthew had to take advantage of having them all in the same room. "I've spoken with the rector and the funeral procession will begin tomorrow at 10am." He said. "I agreed, despite Mary's condition. I don't think we have a choice with all the guests coming. In talking with Cora, we've agreed to a small reception at the church rather than one here."

"Quite so." Violet said heavily. "We are a house upended."

"Sybil won't attend of course," Cora said. "I will be ready."

"As will I." Matthew said. It was his responsibility to lead the burial procession alongside Cora.

Matthew waited a moment then said "There is another matter. The issue of informing Sir Richard."

"I suppose we must." Cora replied to him. "He is her husband."

"Well I don't want to." He reacted coolly. "At least not tonight."

"We don't want to appear inhospitable." Edith tried to say without setting Matthew off. "He might cause trouble."

He looked at each around the table. "I think we need to consider this carefully. What would Mary want? I know this might not be my place" he sighed. "I'm not really sure what that is yet. But that man has no right to be here with the family." Matthew knew well the irony of that statement, for it was not that long ago he too was persona non grata.

"You and Mary have discussed the future?" Cora asked him. She had not really spoken with Matthew since his return from Dorchester. A trip taken with Mary. And one in which they did not return the same afternoon as they had promised her.

"Yes we did." Matthew shifted in his seat. "I think you all know something has been going on." He glanced at Violet who gave him an appraising look.

Matthew continued, "We had a long talk with Robert on the subject late last year so he was in on our plans. We intend to be married as soon as Mary can get a divorce from Richard."

"How exactly is that to come about?" Violet inquired.

"That's the thing," Matthew admitted. "We've never managed to get the timing right. There's a lot to consider."

"I'll say." Edith put forth. "Has he even any inkling of this?"

"I hope not." Matthew said coldly. "We need to be on top of this rather than let him lead."

"Richard won't like being left uninformed on Mary's condition. You might be courting more trouble there."

Matthew well knew that. "I will take the blame should he prove to have a problem."

Violet said, "I'm not sure that is the right approach. Edith is correct. He has the upper hand. Do you want to take him on?"

Indeed he did, Matthew thought. But not right at this moment. Matthew turned to her. "What do you suggest?"

"Wait until the morning. Then you call with an update from the doctor." Violet outlined her idea. "We will all know more and feel better in the morning and you can appear as if you are merely telling him the most important information."

Matthew nodded, rubbing his head vigorously and knowing he was defeated. "I'm sure you are right. But I will call only when Mary is out of the worst."

"Granny and I will take turns checking in on her through the night." Edith said. "Mama must rest as she will need all her energy for tomorrow's service."

"I want to as well." Matthew said, flashing a look that would brook no arguments.

And none of them did.

XX

_They danced. The music flowed around them. They swayed on the air of the tune, swirling around and around….He wore his military tunic. She in a ball gown._

_His lips nuzzled her cheek. He whispered deliciously in her ear, "I'm so, so sorry Mary…." _

_And then he was gone. He faded from her arms and she was left dancing alone…hugging his now lifeless uniform_

"_Matthew…" She cried out in despair. Her breath hardly a whisper…_

XX

Matthew's mouth was dry. He had fallen asleep in the chair. His neck hurt and his back was stiff. His leg throbbed. The curtains were drawn so he had no idea if it was dawn yet.

Massaging his back he got up and poured a glass of water. Anna had kept a tray in the room and it refreshed him back to the semblance of wakefulness.

He opened the curtain. It was dawn. He thought he had heard some birds bringing in the morning with their songs.

The past two days had been hellish.

Mary moved in and out of consciousness, sometimes moaning. Other times calling out but drifting back into oblivion.

They had all been warned that the symptoms could reoccur in several bouts before it was all over.

The first night had been horrible.

Matthew had relieved Edith at around 4am. He would see Mary until dawn and then Anna would watch over her while they attended the funeral services.

Mary had been fitful. Edith had warned him to just wipe her brow and keep her as comfortable as possible.

It had reminded him of being in hospital. The screams of men in the nearby beds. The impossibility of helping them.

The next night was much the same.

He wanted to help her. To take the fever onto himself. Why had it not been him to get this flu? In the dark of the night a gloom of such proportions fell upon him. He could not live without her. And that was not just being dramatic. He knew this in his bones. Mary had brought him back to life. Her forgiveness. Her love.

He would go through the motions of life. Being earl of Grantham. Doing his best by the estate and a good employer and master. Putting one foot in front of the other. But nothing would have any flavour.

At best half a life.

He grew angry.

He had not survived the late bloody, fucking war only to have everything taken away. What was the point of it all? The world's politicians would insist upon more wars in useless feuds over land or money. Innocent people would still die. Suffering and want would continue.

All anyone had was each other. The world had narrowed to this room. This bed. These two people.

He gave into despair. "Mary…" he cried softly, holding her hand as she writhed in pain. Her hand was clammy yet cold.

"Don't leave me…" He whispered into the night. "You are so strong. I love you so much."

It was then he fell into an exhausted slumber.

Then he heard her…

"Matthew…" Her voice shaky, but strong enough for Matthew's ears.

She sounded desperate.

"I'm here my love…" He whispered to her. "I will always be here."

Mary's eyes opened, slowly adjusting to the dark and finding him. She smiled and fell back asleep.

At that moment, Matthew had no idea why, but he knew she would recover. And his own sleep was deep and peaceful.

When he finally woke in the dawn Mary stirred, but not with fitful twists and turns. This time she woke cognizant for a few minutes and asked for some water.

And then, even more music to his ears, he heard Mary say, "Is that you Matthew?" It was still frail, but definitely no longer the inaudible gasps of pain he had heard her suffering through the night.

"Yes, I'm here." He grabbed his stick and walked over to her.

"How long have I been asleep?" Mary tried to lift her head, but it fell back on the pillow.

"Shh...Shh..." He said, "Don't try to move." He wiped her brow with the linen cloth that was beside the basin on her night table. "We've all been keeping you company. Your granny Violet, Edith and I in the early hours."

He sat down in the chair beside her bed. "Dr. Clarkson is coming a short while. He'll be seeing everyone in the house. We can tell him you're past the worst, I think."

Matthew's face still beheld his concern, though. It was indeed a tricky disease. It came on so sudden with Mary whereas others had much longer bouts of nausea, coughing, and fever. Hers came in a short period of intense pain. Her eyes flashing red and bloodshot. She complained of her entire body being on fire and being so very tired.

"May I have a glass of water?"

"Of course." Matthew had said. He held the glass to her trembling lips. She fell back asleep immediately.

Matthew had watched her carefully for a relapse.

But here she was, hours later and talking in full sentences and trying to sit up against the pillows.

Matthew leaned in, having some sad news to convey. "We buried your papa yesterday." He said it gently, putting a hand on her arm. "Cora and I led the procession. We had a small service at the church with several of his army friends and the Prince of Wales in attendance. We had informed Buckingham Palace of circumstances here and they agreed to a small congregation."

Mary's eyes teared up. "We should go together. To visit his grave. To pay my respects and my love." Mary fluttered her eyelids and looked at Matthew. "I am going to get better, aren't I?"

He smiled. "You most certainly are."

XX

Matthew made the phone call.

"Richard?" He asked into the device, surprised he came on the line himself. "Mary's had a bout of this Spanish flu. Dr. Clarkson said she's on the mend and ready for visiting."

He lied. But he didn't care. Richard didn't need to be told the details of her suffering. Only that she was considerably better.

"How long has this been going on? She was fine when I left her two days ago." His gruff Scots accent making it sound like an accusation.

"It came on sudden. She's awake and alert now. When can we expect you?" Matthew just wanted off the line.

"I expected an invitation to Lord Grantham's funeral. I see in the papers it's already happened." Again sounding put out by events in Yorkshire.

Matthew knew that was coming. "It was a small affair because of the illness at Downton. We didn't want to infect any more visitors."

He knew he had Richard there. Carlisle would not want to be around a lot of sickness.

"I'll expect a full report when I arrive. She may need to see a specialist in London." Richard's dismissal of country doctors typical of him.

Matthew knew what he wanted to say, an expletive learned in the trenches when a colonel ordered the men over the top while he ate lunch in his dugout. But he knew better then to openly provoke Richard. At least not yet.

He grunted a reply and got off the telephone.

Richard would arrive by the afternoon train.

Matthew retreated back to Crawley House for a shower and a change of clothes.

But not before yet another awkward conversation. This one with Carson.

Matthew had received a telephone call the day before from St. Dunstan's. The convalescent facility for blinded soldiers had been a godsend for so many. But they were overflowing with needy cases, the doctor told Matthew. And William had been unable to find work outside.

Could Matthew be persuaded to inquiry as to jobs up north?

And that got Matthew thinking. Thus his conversation with Carson.

"Carson," he approached the butler carefully. "Now that Lady Sybil and Lady Mary are on the mend, we can start to deal with some of the staffing issues. I will be in need of a valet now that I'm to take up residence at Downton. I would like to have William Mason."

"William, M'Lord?" Carson looked shocked. "But he's…"

"Blind. I know." Matthew replied. "He's having a difficult time finding work you see. And he was my soldier servant in the war. I want to help."

"But what about Bates?" Carson inquired. "He's been Lord Grantham's valet since before the war." And of course he had his own war injury to contend with. And he overcame it.

"Well that's the thing isn't it?" Matthew rubbed his jaw. "I think we can come up with a new place for Bates. Let me talk to him about it. But I do want William as my valet. We rubbed along very well together in the war. He stood by me. I want to do right by him now."

"Can he do the work?" Carson asked cautiously, "I don't mean to be indelicate…"

"He's worked here for a long time. They've taught him all sorts of ways to find his way around. With a special cane. Listening for sounds. It's all very innovative." Matthew knew he was asking a lot of the household. "I think if we all pull together, help him out initially. Once he gets the hang of things, it might just work out."

Matthew faced the butler. "We have to help out our heroes after all. The war was won in part because of the sacrifices of men like William. I can't leave him to destitution or remain on his father's charity for life. Farm work would be too hard on him. But I think we can work out a solution here at Downton."

Carson knew the truth of all that. "William is a fine young man. And a hero. We will do our best."

"Thank you." Matthew knew that was a concession by Carson. A well run house was his ideal. And this would be quite the adjustment for staff. "I will see what I can do about compensating everyone for their time and effort."

Matthew's voice was heavy with sadness as he continued, "I am to speak with Murray later this week and sign some legal documents to transfer accounts and such. I'll know much more then about where we stand."

Carson nodded. "I won't make any major changes to staff until I hear the word from you or the dowager countess."

Matthew was at first confused as why he needed to consult granny Violet, then it hit him. Cora was now dowager countess. They were a family of widows.

"I will be at Crawley House for a few hours." He swallowed distastefully. "I should be back in time for Sir Richard's arrival "

"Very good My Lord. Mrs. Hughes is seeing to trays upstairs for luncheon."

"Do take the opportunity to visit Lady Mary. I'm sure she would like to talk with you." Matthew knew about the close relationship between the butler and his favorite of the house. "She needs all the cheering up during this recovery time."

Carson smiled for the first time in Matthew's recent memory. "I will happily do so."

XX

Mary still felt so weak. Her limbs ached. She slept a great deal. But despite it all, she knew she was considerably better than a few days ago.

Richard had arrived an hour earlier.

Her conversation with him, after he had settled into a guest room and walked down the hall to her bedroom was mercifully brief. She informed him that she was getting better, but that Dr. Clarkson said it would be a slow recovery.

She could see he was displeased to hear that, but said nothing.

Cora walked in.

"Oh I didn't know you were in here," she said. "I was going to tell Mary Mrs. Patmore had prepared a luncheon tray."

Richard said, "I don't wish to tire you out, my dear so I'll leave you to rest." He had assessed the situation correctly. Cora really wished to speak to Mary alone as she made no move to leave the room with him.

The door closed. Cora sat in the chair near the bed. She said, "Your colour is so much better today." So relieved that both her daughters had recovered. "After lunch, Dr. Clarkson agreed that you could take a turn or two around the room. Get your strength back."

Mary nodded. Then informed her mother. "Richard will be staying a few days. He wants to take me back to London."

She glanced over to register her mother's reaction. "He is your husband." Cora conceded.

"I don't want any more scenes like the one when he visited last." Mary replied. "I know he sets evreryone's teeth on edge. My own included."

"I fear none of us can take much more of him. Matthew least of all."

Cora side eyed Mary. "He promised to be on his best behaviour around him. But I still say we should not let them in the same room together."

"You are taking this all so much better Mama," Mary told her mother. "Much better than you were a few years ago."

"I've come around to Matthew." Cora admitted. "He's been so steadfast this past year. I've come to rely on him."

"So you're not opposed anymore to our plans?" Mary queried cautiously. She knew the showdown with Richard needed to come sooner rather than later for her sanity. "Matthew and I want to respect Papa and your time of mourning of course. But it would be much to my peace of mind if we could have your blessing."

"Haven't you already begun?" Cora was not going to agree until Mary came clean. "With Matthew?"

Mary pursed her lips. She paused, before answering. She so wanted her mother's approval to get rid of Richard from her life. The dreams of the last nights had left her unsettled. The fading image of her father. Matthew leaving her arms. Disappearing from her life. Whether that was a reference to her concern during the war, or a premonition about the future she was not sure.

"We have to force his hand. If we don't I'll be stuck in a marriage of his convenience for years to come." She conveyed her despair to her mother. She needed to understand.

"By doing what exactly?" Cora would not give in.

"Richard must bring charges of adultery against me. We need to embarrass him into it. He hates being humiliated. So that's what we did."

"In Dorchester?"

"Yes." Mary replied evenly. "It's done. Too late to go back. We've not done this on a whim, Mama. I love Matthew. He loves me. Haven't we learned from the war not to put off any chance at happiness?"

Cora sighed. "I do want you to be happy, my dearest one. Of course I do. How will Richard find this out?"

"He's already suspicious. If he asks, I will tell him." Mary said. That was the part of the plan that was still evasive. "We might have to goad him into it." She warned her mother.

"Can he be goaded?" Cora inquired skeptically. "He's so powerful."

"He's got his vulnerable spots." Mary knew her husband well.

Cora took Mary's hand to help her over to the fireplace when Anna brought in their lunch trays.

When Anna left, Cora said, "I'm feeling such pangs of guilt for making you pay such steep price for the family honour at my insistence. Now here is my opportunity to make amends. Go ahead. Don't wait for six months. We will all be better off without him."

Mary felt a great weight lift from her. "Oh Mama, thank you." And she sank back into the soft backed chair with relief.

XX

Drinks after the awkward family dinner with Richard alone was not something Matthew looked forward too. The women left him alone reluctantly. Violet cautioning him to hold a civil tongue if he possibly could.

And Matthew had tried. He really had tried.

But Richard demanded to be teased. His arrogance and insufferable self-importance was just too much.

"Mary will come home with me." He demanded in such an off-hand but yet expecting to be kow towed kind of way, that Matthew could not help himself.

"She already is home." Matthew threw back. He took a sip of his sherry and a drag on the cigar.

Richard stared daggers. "This has not been her home for some time."

"Mary will always have a home at Downton," Matthew retorted coolly. "As long as I'm alive."

"I've heard rumours that concern me actually." Richard opened up a new broadside. "That you are taking advantage of your position already as Earl of Grantham."

"What?" Matthew's eyes narrowed.

"I had a word with the footman who carried my bags to my room."

"A bribe more like…" Matthew tried to bite the accusation back, but it was too late.

"Call it what you will, he talked readily enough. Said you demanded to carry Mary up to her room and tried to undress her before her maid stopped you." Carlisle positively sniffed in mock disgust. "Returning to your old ways disregarding the sanctity of the female bedroom."

Matthew was almost relieved it had come at last. The showdown. He was ready. But he would not rise to play Carlisle's game. He would wait to see what cards his opposition held first. Carlisle knew a little of the truth. But he did not yet know the extent of their adulterous relationship. That card would be played later.

He explained instead. "She fainted in my arms. I carried her upstairs. I left her care to Anna and returned downstairs to inquire as to whether Dr. Clarkson had been called."

"And conveniently waited to inform her husband of this illness. Not for two days." Richard's ire was growing.

"She needed rest." Matthew settled on his response. "Not anxiety. You cause her only to become agitated."

"I am her next of kin. I should make her medical decisions. Not you." His words snarled.

"Not for long." Matthew contended in a low voice.

"What do you mean by that?" Richard blew out some smoke and eyed Matthew across the table.

"That Mary might not ever return to London again. That she is tired of your company and will remain here for the foreseeable future."

"Is this her decision? She's not said as much to me." Richard dismissed Matthew's statement.

Matthew knew the truth of that. Her conversation with Richard had taken place before her talk with her mother. So she could not have said anything to provoke him.

But now he knew that they had Cora's blessing.

"It is our decision." He affirmed. "We both think this is the best plan."

"And how do you come into it?" Richard asked, sucking rapidly on the end of his cigar.

Matthew would have to tread carefully. "Because she wants to be rid of you." He replied. "And I intend to see that she does."

"Is this some kind of bluff?" Richard scoffed. "You know only I have the power to divorce her. And I intend to do no such thing."

"She doesn't love you. Why make her suffer so?" Matthew asked. The man was beyond arrogant. Indeed it bordered on outright cruelty.

Richard took one last puff of his cigar. "If for no other reason than you want it." He sized up Matthew. "I don't think you have the guts to pull off what is required. You generally run from a fight."

Matthew sat up straight in the chair. His next words cold and clear, "If it's a battle you want, then a battle you shall have. I will see you in hell before I back down fighting for Mary."

XX

_Please tell me your thoughts. Mary and Matthew are in it to win it..._


	23. Ch 23: Getting On

_We move ahead a few weeks into the story: _

XX

It was April, the month of beginnings. Spring flowers budding. The winter's chill releasing its hold. Matthew took it all as a sign of hope.

"What's this?" Mary's voice from above.

Matthew sat on the lowest step away from the house. He turned and quickly snatched the cigarette out of his mouth.

Mary's eye arched, amused at his blush. ""I thought you promised me once to give those up when the war was over." She walked down to sit next to him.

"Caught out, am I?" Matthew glanced sheepishly over to her. "I'm afraid it's become a bit of a habit. A way to relieve strain. Slows me down, gives me time to think."

He quickly changed the subject, taking her hand. "It's so good to see you looking so well." Mary had taken over ten days to completely heal from the flu.

Their fingers entwined. Mary put her head on his shoulder. It was good to finally be alone.

Richard had once again returned to London. And as much of a relief it was, Matthew knew quite well he was using the time to plot his next move.

If he was to move at all. He could hold good to his threat to do nothing. Soon enough he'd hire some kind of agent who would uncover their secret rendezvous in Dorchester. Perhaps, Matthew thought painfully, by tracing his steps to the delivery of the death penny.

He no longer cared how Richard found out. Just that he did. And that the next steps towards a writ of divorce would proceed.

While Mary rested and recovered with Sybil, Matthew hired a solicitor's firm Lawrie, Lawrie, and Camden to handle their end of such a writ. They had to be ready for anything.

Mary had informed him about Richard's double dealings in the war and he related that story to Mr. Will Lawrie. For full disclosure, Matthew also told the lawyer about the deliberateness of their adulterous affair.

He refrained initially from giving explicit details, but the lawyer probed. "I don't mean to be indelicate towards yourself Lord Grantham, or Lady Mary but these details are important."

"I'm prepared to answer any of your questions Mr. Lawrie. And please call me Matthew. I'm a solicitor myself by trade and I seek only to be treated as you would any of your clients. I know the devil is in the details, but also so is the truth."

"You may desire no special treatment Matthew," Lawrie acknowledged, "but it will come your way nonetheless. Your newly elevated status will play a role in any court proceedings. Whether it is positive or negative remains to be seen."

Matthew tapped his cane against the floor as he thought. "You mean it could work against us, don't you? That Lady Mary might be seen to now want out of one marriage, in order to make a more advantageous one?"

"That is a decided possibility." Lawrie was glad he did not have to draw it out for him. "Or if the presiding judge is deferential to peers of the realm, he might go very easy on us. We just won't know right now."

Matthew knew the truth of that. And that very thing was what concerned him most. The uncertainty of it all. He had thought to have left that all behind him, on the killing fields of France. But no, of course not. Life was always uncertain.

"So we must be prepared for anything. When you say 'with full knowledge of what was needed,' I take it to mean you engaged in the legal definition of adultery?"

The two men eyes met in a level gaze. "Yes." Matthew's voice was steady, unflinching.

"Any chance Lady Mary is pregnant?" Lawrie tested that nerve.

"No." Matthew's terse but even reply.

Lawrie apprised Matthew's unreadable face. "Good." He replied coolly. "For that would surely complicate matters."

All of this would be repeated in court. Matthew would have to prepare Mary to answer. If only there was a way to speed these matters up.

"I say," Matthew offered up, "Should I just tell Richard all this and push him towards a decision?"

"Absolutely not," the lawyer reproved. "You're a lawyer Matthew you know better than to give the opposition any ammunition willingly. You never know how it would come back to bite you."

Matthew acquiesced reluctantly. He did know. Frustrating as it was. He was just ready to move ahead with their life.

"This is going to get ugly," Lawrie leaned forward. "Very ugly. Do you and Lady Mary have any idea how this could be made public and twisted to actually make Carlisle look sympathetic?"

Matthew grimaced. "Is there any way to rein him in?"

"You know the man better than I. Only you would know how to do that." Lawrie sat back in his chair. "Any ideas?" The canny lawyer sensed that Matthew was reluctant. Still withholding something. "If you have any cards to play, I suggest to find a way to play them."

The two men then moved on to a discussion of post-divorce marriage options.

Matthew's head was reeling as he left the chambers.

A few days later, Matthew was still pondering those next moves as he waited for Mary at the foot of the staircase to the lower gardens.

He put it all out of his mind for the moment. He and Mary were to visit Robert's grave this morning. She had recovered her strength and Dr. Clarkson said she was up to taking the long walk to St. Michael and All Angel's cemetery and the family plot.

Mary had left the rest of the family at the house in order to join Matthew in the garden.

Cora declined to go with them. She had taken Sybil earlier in the week and now they were talking with Tom. He had found work with a London newspaper and some big news was in the offing for the future of her youngest child. Edith it seemed had pulled some strings with some of her newspaper contacts and got Tom the interview. She was currently in London but was expected to return by midday.

Rosamund had arrived and was resting, having already paid her respects to her brother's grave at the funeral service. She had returned to London the same day to save the family more hardship. So now she was to stay for several days.

They all were to luncheon later. Matthew's first days as Earl would be full of Crawley drama. Mary wryly concluded that was enough to make anyone continue a filthy habit.

Mary gripped his hand. Brought his fingers to her lips.

Matthew got up and helped Mary to her feet. "Shall we go?"

XX

They approached the grave. Mary hesitated. Matthew could feel her shiver as he guided her towards the spot.

"The headstone is now in place. I had to approve it along with Cora and Violet." Matthew explained gently. "I hope it's suitable to you."

The marker was Portland stone, carved with Robert's titles and lineage. Cora had them add _beloved son husband and father. _

Mary knelt and placed the bouquet of flowers she had brought from their own gardens at Downton. She touched the stone. Kissed her lips with her fingers and then placed her hand over the name on the grave. "I love you Papa." Her words soft. "Rest well." The tears forming behind her eyes, came streaming down her cheeks.

Matthew knelt down beside her, his stick steadying him. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to her. They stayed close until she was ready to make a move.

"Tell me about the service." Mary said as they walked down the path.

"Let's go sit down, shall we?" Matthew asked, pointing the way into the small village church. "The eulogies were given by the bishop and the colonel of his regiment. He was with him in South Africa. Cora was quite moved by his memories. We led the procession to the grave and stayed until the end."

They sat down in one of the front pews. Mary walked to the side of the altar, lit a candle, knelt down, and murmured a silent memorial.

She got up and returned to sit next to Matthew.

"I would like to speak with you about some of the details concerning what happens after the divorce." Matthew leaned closer to Mary. "I've taken legal advice with a firm recommended by a colleague from my old law firm. It's not as straight forward as we might want."

Mary looked wary. "For example?"

Matthew licked his lips. "We most probably won't be able to marry in this church. Or any church for that matter."

Mary exhaled softly. "I know they don't approve of divorce…."

"It's not just that." Matthew replied. "It's also who you intend to remarry."

Mary met his eyes, understanding dawning. "My lover."

"The Anglican church considers marriage a sacred bond. Adultery is the breaking of that bond. So approving the marriage between a divorced woman and the man named in the writ as co-respondent is essentially condoning the adultery and compounding the original sin."

"Are there any exceptions?" Mary inquired.

"According to Will Lawrie, the odds of us getting a special bishop's dispensation are long at best. He might be persuaded if I appeal as the Earl of Grantham, but even then we would have to wait a year before they'd even consider issuing one."

Mary's eyebrow shot up. "I don't want to wait. Not anymore."

Mathew visibly relaxed. "Neither do I, my love. I was not sure how set you were on a family church wedding."

"I may not be accustomed to these sorts of adventures. Not brought up to bring scandal upon my family. I had expected to make a match suitable to my station, to my father's expectations. I let myself down once in doing that. By accepting second best to save face. But after all that's happened, the war, my illness I'm not prepared to remain stifled in a marriage I hate."

Mary clasped Matthew's hand tight. "We are now so close to finally bringing it all to a close. I refuse to wait even a day, much less a year."

"Then it's settled." Matthew stood up. Dropped to his knee.

"Matthew." Mary was suddenly giddy. "What are you doing?"

"If we can't stand at this altar in the sight of God and the gathered congregation," He said, gazing up at her. "I can ask for your hand in marriage. And give a solemn promise that I will be true and faithful to you for as long as we both shall live."

His eyes were bright, dancing. "What do you say? Will you take this hobbling fool of a man for your husband? Will you do me the great, probably undeserving honour of becoming my wife?"

The sun shaped flashes of light in Mary's hair. Matthew could not tear his eyes away from her.

Mary felt his grip on her fingers. He was shaking. "Yes, Matthew. Yes of course my darling. For all the days of my life."

Matthew gritted his teeth and stood up without his cane or assistance. He stood beside her, looked over from under hooded eyes, "We'll probably be outcasts."

"What and have to run off to Kenya like some bolters?" Mary feigned shock. "No, we'll stand our ground and show them all what real love is and live as we want. Granny always says one goes up the aisle with only half the story told."

"We're going to have a wonderful life." He replied grinning madly. "I can't wait for it to begin."

They left the church and walked slowly home. Matthew stopping only once behind a large oak tree so he could kiss Mary and seal their betrothal.

"I feel I could take on the world now." Matthew released her and they continued to walk.

"Not the world darling. Just my family for lunch." Mary replied.

XX

The luncheon went off much better than Matthew anticipated. They had returned to Downton in a bright mood. The gloom of the past fortnight has been suffocating. The mourning would continue for some time.

But the healing had begun.

They had agreed to say nothing about their plans until they figured out a way to force Richard to make his move to issue the writ of divorce.

In the meantime there was plenty to occupy their time. Mary was to help out with Sybil's wedding plans. It was to be a quiet affair, just close family. Tom did not have any relatives in England and he was not sure his mother could make it over as she was not feeling so well. He had agreed to go ahead with the ceremony in Ripon and have a gathering of the Branson's at a later date where he would introduce Sybil to all his brothers and extended relations.

Matthew had to meet with the estate lawyer Murray about ongoing investments and infrastructure issues later in the week. Mary knew that weighed on his mind. He wanted to do right by the estate. She offered to help where she could.

"Remember that in the first year of the war I worked keeping the domestic accounts and helped set up Downton as a convalescent home. I learned a trick or two about retrenching costs."

"Your father was not the best investor," Matthew admitted. "We will have to find ways to make the estate pay."

Both had gone upstairs to change for lunch and then made separate appearances in the dining room.

Mary sat next to her mother. Matthew was across the table, seated for the first time at the center of the table.

Cora had insisted it was time to take the position of Earl of Grantham.

Violet beside him with Rosamund on the other side. Edith, Sybil, and Tom making up the rest of the party.

"So what is this news my daughter in law is so excitable about?" Violet asked Sybil. "Out with it."

"Tom's got a new job. He starts next week. And if all goes well he's going to be offered a job as the Banner's Irish correspondent in America." Sybil knew this was going to be a shock. But better to get it all out.

"America?" Mary could not have been more astonished. "But what about you?"

"I intend to go with him. As soon as we are married. A great adventure and a new start for both of us."

Cora sighed. "Sybil is determined. I've given her my consent. Her father would have huffed and puffed but in the end he would have done the same."

Matthew knew the truth of that. Robert was ever the softest when it came to his daughters. He would miss Tom as they had just gotten to know each other. But it was a great opportunity and he knew Tom wanted to get on in life.

"I think it's just up his line." Matthew said supportively. "I look forward to reading his copy when it's printed in the London editions."

Tom glanced over and nodded in thanks. "I hope to give some good accounts of the American opinions on Home Rule. And perhaps how the Irish have been treated in the urban centers like New York City."

"Is that where you would live?" Edith inquired. She longed to travel as well. "I'm quite envious you know. I might just visit."

"When we're settled you are all welcome." Sybil added. "The newspaper is setting up our household for us. In a good neighborhood they assure us." She turned to her grandmother. "We'll be more than fine."

"I hope so my dear," Violet patted her hand. "The Americans are a peculiar lot. You mustn't take anything they say too seriously."

Cora ignored her mother in law. "My mother and brother will see Sybil when she docks. Welcome her in style. Also she says you can summer in Rhode Island as long as you want."

"I'm not there to be among the idle rich, Mama." Sybil retorted. "I intend to find a job."

"A job?" Rosamund interjected. "You should concentrate on starting a family instead."

"Plenty of time for that." Sybil replied. "I want to live an exciting life first. The war has brought so many new opportunities for women. I might take up nursing again. Or even try to become a medical doctor."

Tom couldn't look more proud. "The Land of Opportunity it's called. We can do anything."

Matthew wasn't at all sure all dreams could come true in any place in this new world of the war to end all wars. But he would not rain on their parade. Perhaps they could make it work for them.

He wanted to think so.

"What are you to do now, Matthew? All sorts of plans have you? For the estate? Improvements and such?" Rosamund changed the conversation. "I do hope that's where all your attention will be drawn?"

Matthew remained calm. He and Rosamund had never a good relationship. She had been a thorn in his side during his initial courtship of Mary. He remembered her at the train station, in 1914 looking for Mary as she had sneaked off to say farewell to Matthew on the platform.

He had been volunteered to sing along some of the others of the regiment. After their eyes found each other while he was on the stage, they had snuck away from her prying eyes. Kissed passionately. He had promised to come back to her.

Rosamund had ever been against plighting troth with Mary. Always thought she could do better than a middle class lawyer.

Well under the worst of circumstances, he was now earl. And she was still determined to keep Mary from him.

"Rosamund, forgive me for not greeting you upon your arrival. Mary and I were out." He looked over at Mary and continued, "We have all sorts of plans for the future of the estate yes. I will be seeing Mr. Murray about the accounting and investments and give myself an extended tour of the estate to become familiar with the farms and tenants."

"We?" Rosamund asked crisply. "Who's we?"

"Mary and I." Matthew responded smoothly, looking Rosamund in the eye. "I intend to include her in the entire running of the estate. Downton for sure is as much hers and it ever will be mine."

And to that Rosamund had no response. She nodded and began another conversation about the upcoming Garden Club Show with her mother.

Leaving Rosamund Painswick speechless was a victory unto itself Matthew concluded.

The luncheon broke up as Matthew and Tom went to look at some plans for redesigning some of the estate cottages and Cora and Sybil retreated to discuss the small wedding ceremony at the nearby parish rectory. Edith and Rosamund took a stroll around the garden.

Mary, left alone, made up her mind to do something to possibly speed up events. She could not such sit and wait for Richard to make a move. That was giving him far too much power.

Matthew would not be told what she intended. Either he would want to come with her or persuade her to wait until they could thrash out all the possible outcomes.

She moved upstairs and motioned for Anna to follow her into her room.

"Pack an overnight bag, Anna." Mary said moving towards her night table. "I intend to go to London. We'll come up with some reason for a return to the townhouse. Please tell Carson to not inform his Lordship that I have left until well after the train has left the station."

"Do you want me to return with you?" Anna asked.

"No." Mary said. "I will be back by morning. I need you here to make sure the family doesn't get suspicious."

"I'll slip out while everyone's occupied." Mary finished a hasty change of clothes by putting on her gloves and hat.

She left shortly thereafter.

XX

"I didn't expect you back." Richard said, pouring a whisky from the drinks table. "Come to your senses have you?"

Mary pulled off her gloves. "No." She scoffed. "I came to try to talk you into yours. Let's just stop playing these games and draw a veil over this marriage. It's a sham. We both deserve something better."

"From where I stand, I can wait a very long time." Richard eased down into a chair. "You are the one determined to cause scandal rumours."

"Which you will play a part in." Mary reminded him.

"I control the news in my papers. And I can buy off most of the others. They owe me." If he was bluffing, Mary wasn't sure.

"Why don't we just resolve it then? Before it gets out of hand? Nothing has been said yet." Mary was getting more and more frustrated with Richard's calm demeanour.

"I find conjugal stability appealing." Richard said. "We play our parts well you and I. We did so during the war as host and hostess to a glittering set. Why would I change anything?"

"Because I don't love you." Mary declaimed. "Because I want to be with another."

"A jumped up middle class lawyer? Tsk Tsk Mary… Of course now that he's earl I have to admit he has more appeal for you."

"You're just jealous."

"Of some golden haired boy who just waltzes into the peerage because of some backwater bloodline, you bet I am. Some of us had to work damned hard for any acknowledgement of success. I sweat blood for my achievements." Richard ever boasted about his achievements. Mary had had enough.

"You earned your money and titles in back room swindles while Matthew fought and others died in France." Mary retorted with a chill he had hardly ever heard in her voice.

"We all played our parts. There is very little you can pin on me." His reply was smooth and cold. "Really Mary, sit down. I won't fight you on this. If you want to be with him I won't stop you."

Mary could hardly believe it. "What?"

"Neither man nor woman's state is naturally monogamous. One can have lovers for certain. I won't begrudge you or indeed, any I might choose. We can come to an understanding."

Mary closed her eyes. "You must be mad."

"Dalliances give energy, or so I'm told. Marriages can be made stronger by it. As it takes away that part of thing and allows us to concentrate on the partnership end. We work well together. I don't intend to give that up."

"You just want to use my connections to the best families." She paced in front of the fireplace.

"Of course I do. You play the game correctly and you can stay in their good graces and still have your liaison with your onetime lover. What's not to like? This way we keep all our names out of the limelight." Richard's Scottish burr was persuasive.

"You are really serious?" Mary was flabbergasted. "You're nothing but a cheap opportunist."

"I'm a newspaperman. Of course I am." Richard snapped. "And you can take this offer or be dragged down into the muck and be a leper in society."

Mary's head began to throb. This was not going at all the way she intended. "I came here to appeal to your better nature." She scoffed softly. "I should have known better and realized you had none."

"I am offering the best there is." Richard took a sip of his drink. "Why don't you go to Matthew and ask him what he thinks? Makes it nice and tidy for us all."

"You…you can't be serious." Mary snapped. "He would never…. I would never."

"Needs must, my dear. Go ask him." He truly believed he had resolved it all to each party's discretion. "He's a man of the world. He's had his own affairs in France. I think you'd might be surprised at his acquiescence to such an arrangement."

The man's calm was unnerving to Mary. Could he possibly be right?

XX  
_Hmmmm… Richard is a sneaky bastard… with a slightly unexpected offer they might not be able to refuse?_


	24. Chapter 24: What Do You Want in Life?

_I have made the rather unhappy discovery that I not only managed to copy the same chapter twice under two different chapter titles, but I've lost the original chapter in my Word documents. Chapter 15 and 16 are the same. Chapter 15 (What's Worth Fighting For) was originally Mary's point of view of Matthew's visit to the London townhouse that was recounted in chapter 14 (Epiphany). I no longer have "What's Worth Fighting For" in my Word document file on my lap top, so I cannot replace what is now a duplicate chapter 16. Sigh... I'm very sorry for this. It would not necessarily matter as chapter 15 was largely a repetition of events in chapter 14 just from Mary's perspective...but it also included a great deal of plot about Sybil and Tom's budding romance and Mary's growing acceptance of their relationship. So I ask that you realize that was included in my original story and lays the groundwork for the marriage between Sybil and Tom that has become a part of these later chapters plot lines. Thank you! And I'm very sorry for that mix-up. _

_Read on! :)_

XX

"Such behaviour was just not allowed in my day." Lady Westin sniped. "They're acting as if already married."

"They flaunt it so openly. We knew discretion." Mrs. Campbell replied. "What can you expect from one not bred to it? She should know better. But then Lady Mary needs a good comeuppance."

Matthew knew the words were meant for his ears. He had been nearby comparing notes on the peace process ongoing in Paris with Major Barton. Attempting idle talk, while he seethed inside to hear Mary spoken of in such a way.

Gossip as usual got around. The rumours of his and Mary's attraction for one another had reached this party. They had been seen taking long walks around Downton.

The gathering was one he undertook to take some of the social load off of Cora. She was still fragile from everything that had happened.

Matthew had said he would have to learn soon enough how to handle the local gentry.

Major Barton changed the subject. "My wife has entered her own rose this year. Some kind of new variety she's very keen on. Of course she's ever the loser to the old Dowager."

A memory rang in his head. The last Downton Village Flower Show from before the war.

"Mr. Mason's roses won first prize at least once as I recall." Matthew said. "Cousin Violet handed him the trophy."

So long ago. Such an innocent time. Taken away. By war. By experience.

"Maybe I'll shine by comparison." He had said to Mary.

"Maybe you will." She had impishly retorted.

They had flirted outrageously the entire evening.

It had been the beginning for them.

Leading to his proposal at Sybil's ball. Then the war.

Their promises broken. Their reunion passionate.

Only to be unmade again.

In loving Mary, he had brought her such pain. Such potential for scandal.

She did not deserve it.

He would be remiss in all he held dear to make her endure one more second of the life enforced upon her by this ungrateful society.

She was so strong. Ready to go ahead and face the music in a court of law. To openly and willingly declare him her lover.

To defy convention.

She should not have to.

There must be another way….

XX

The morning tired him with standing for hours at the town hall.

Matthew accepted the condolences of the neighbors at the meeting. Despite the snippy chatter of some, he kept his temper in check. He made a good impression on most, agreeing to stand the major and his party of shooters come the season.

The afternoon task was to meet with Carson to discuss the selection of a new chauffeur. Matthew wanted to drive himself around, but the family did need one for Cora and Violet in particular. And, Matthew dared to imagine, when he and Mary had children his little two seater would not hold them all.

That cheered him enormously.

He lunched with his mother at Crawley House. The moving to Downton had been completed for the time being. He took up temporary residence in one of the guest bedrooms with adjoining dressing chamber. The experiment with William was to commence as soon as Mason made his way to Yorkshire.

"How is that going to work exactly?" Isobel inquired. "I've seen some of soldiers do quite well getting around with a cane. But there so much intensive, close work to being a valet. Polishing and so forth."

"I've had a long talk with William about it. As well as Dr. Philips at St. Dunstan's. He's come up with all kinds of ways to work out the logistics of walking around and not getting in anyone's way. He has the cane, yes but also sounds." He stopped to take a quick sip of the tea.

Matthew scooped up another scone from the tray and continued, "He can listen to the echoes of footfalls and voices of the other staff members. He can feel the vibrations and sense another's presence. They've trained him to do that. He has a special braille watch to know the time. And he can figure out how long or how many strokes it would take to polish buttons or what have you. He told me in the army he rarely looked down anyway when he polished, it became second nature to know."

Isobel loved Matthew's enthusiasm about William's presence at Downton. Robert's death, so sudden and tragic, meant Matthew had to take up his role as Earl of Grantham with a seriousness and urgency that left him with little time for anything else.

Mary's illness had put everything in perspective. As if a veteran of the Great War had not already been battered and bruised into certain knowledge of the transitory nature of life, the bleak reality of an existence without Mary had hit Matthew hard. He was determined to change Mary's future with as little interruption to her life as possible.

That planning weighed on Matthew's mind for the past week. He was reticent about the details with her, but being his mother Isobel knew Matthew was quite worried his plotting for Richard's downfall would fail and result in more agony and suffering for Mary. But she also had never seen him so driven to succeed.

Saving Mary had become his raison d'être.

"I'm sure William will be a great success. You will help him most certainly get the hang of things. And the staff at Downton are a kind group of people who love him." Isobel spoke as she poured another cup of tea for Matthew. "And Mary will as well. When she becomes Countess."

Matthew's lips tickled into a smile at that thought. "You are most wonderful, Mother. You know that don't you? I thought you'd be appalled that I had proposed to Mary when she was married to another and declare me foolish."

"People in love are always foolish." Isobel's light laugh responded, "You two have waited a long time for each other. No time to waste anymore. From what you tell me Mary's been through the ringer. She is strong. But you are her strength as she is yours. I've never seen two people that complement each other as much as you. Between the two of you, that vile man will get what is coming to him."

She looked over at her son's penetrating stare as he looked out the window. "Will you divulge your plan?"

His head shook imperceptibly. "No. Not until I've talked to the person who can change the rules of the game Richard is playing." Matthew's tone hard and intense. Determined. "He assumes he holds all the cards. What he doesn't realize is that's his biggest slipup. His own arrogance will be his downfall."

XX

Matthew walked down the gravel path towards St. Anne's rectory in Ripon. It had been a week since his lunch with his mother. The plan in his head was nearly complete. He did need Mary's approval before it could be put into action.

Finishing some work with Murray he made good time to the rectory in time for the wedding. Mary met him at the end of the drive. She rode from the house to Ripon with the family in the Rolls Royce, Tom at the wheel.

Mary had waited outside for Matthew to arrive.

Everyone else was already inside.

"I must get in to help Sybil. Mama and Violet are fussing like two mother hens and Sybil is fuming." Mary said. "Tom needs some help as well I think. He has no family here."

Matthew nodded. "I know. He confirmed that his mother would have difficulty making the trip. Thus his agreement to proceed with the service."

Mary had been back from London for several days. Neither Mary nor Matthew had spent much time in each other's company. Matthew was ensconced with Murray most of the time, going over the accounts and investments. Completing the legal transactions needed to formalize his inheritance.

"Are you finally done with Mr. Murray?" She spoke quietly as they approached the rectory.

"More or less." Matthew replied. "I will need you to accompany me to his London office sometime this fortnight. We've set up a series of trusts for Cora and Violet to see them throughout the remainder of their lives. Murray said Robert always intended to do it, but he never got around to it." He turned to judge Mary's reaction. "I don't mean he didn't want to. More than he never saw the need as he always thought there would be plenty of time."

"Father was ever to put off til tomorrow." Mary shrugged. "But what do you need me for? Something to do with the divorce?"

Matthew side eyed her again. "Yes."

"Go ahead and tell me. I'll know soon enough." Mary's voice was resigned to hear him out.

"I felt I had to make discrete inquiries about your settlement as Murray first drew up the papers."

"Papa did it all. I didn't want to know what he gave to Richard."

Matthew stopped just outside the door. "It was not an extraordinary amount. Enough for Carlisle to draw interest and have the two of you live most comfortably."

"Will we get it back?" Mary inquired.

"Not if we allow Richard to take the lead in the divorce. The settlement might go his direction as some kind of compensation." Matthew pursed his lips in disgust.

"If?" Mary raised an eyebrow. "I thought that was the only way to go."

Matthew unconsciously took her hand and rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. "I have an idea that might change all that." He was very pensive. "It's something we need to discuss actually. But not right now. Let's talk about it after the ceremony."

Mary nodded agreement. "I've got to check on Sybil."

The two separated as Matthew went in search of Tom.

Father Christopher McDonald had spoken with Tom and Sybil and found them a loving couple eager to marry and start a life together. The wedding was to take place in the evening. Sybil, with a quiver in her voice, had asked Matthew to take her down the short hall to the priest's parlor. Matthew, gently assented, saying he'd be honoured to stand in for her dear father.

The small wedding party consisted of Mary, Edith, Cora, Isobel, and Violet. After the exchange of vows and a celebratory dinner at Downton, they would be off to London for a quick honeymoon. Tom had great hopes for a trip to Ireland before they made the long move to America.

Matthew found Tom in a small back room that doubled as the priest's office. Cursing under his breath. Matthew walked in to see Tom strip off the bow tie in disgust. "I wanted to wear a regular suit, but instead I'm wearing tails and a top hat." He shook his head. "This is just not who I am. I told Sybil I can't turn into someone else just to please Cousin Violet."

Matthew grinned. "Let me help."

"I've no time and no interest to learn this." Tom said as he handed the tie to Matthew. "Sybil wanted to send one of the footmen to tend me, but I told her under no circumstances would I have anyone dress me like I was a child."

Tom realized too late that he was now speaking to the Earl of Grantham who had a bevy of servants tend his every need. "My tongue does get the better of me."

Matthew guffawed. "No offense taken. I want you to profit from my hard earned skills. I said they wouldn't change me either when I first arrived. Robert reminded me with what I know was the best of intentions that we all have a part to play. Including the footmen. And they do take pride in their work, as much as you or I do in ours."

"But it's still subservient. Keeps us all in our places. We are but the reflection of our masters." Tom scoffed.

"That's Carson speaking. No one really believes that anymore." Matthew responded.

"I hear some I can best now call former friends downstairs sneering behind my back that I've gotten too big for my boots hobnobbing with the upstairs family." Tom had felt Carson's disapproval even as the butler was too diplomatic to say anything to his person.

Matthew understood. "Times are changing. The old ways are gone, for both servant and master. We've all got to stumble through the debris this war's left behind."

"Ireland's still under the English yoke." Tom's voice sounded bitter.

"That will change in time to. It's inevitable, even if the old timers want to still have feet of clay. The traces are being kicked in all over the world. Especially now. Look at all the newly self-determined nations arising out of the ashes of war. Ireland too." Matthew took the tie from Tom's hands and showed him the steps to formally place the bow tie.

Tom watched, and agreed. "I'm hoping this new job will let me do just that."

"Sybil sounds very excited about living in America. Mary isn't letting on, but she'll miss her youngest sister dearly." Matthew finished and stood back.

"I'm not too sure she's keen on the idea of a chauffeur for a brother in law." Tom grinned. "Or yourself?"

"Mary's ultimately a pragmatist. And as for me, well, they do have a way of getting under one's skin, don't they? These Crawley women? We need to stick together." Matthew stepped back and eyed the fit of the evening jacket. Molesley had refitted one of his own for Tom.

"I told Sybil you can teach me to fish, to ride, and to shoot, but I'll still be an Irish Mick in my heart." Tom declared. "She'll get no better from me."

"So I should hope." Matthew said. "We're done here." And he walked over behind Father Christopher's desk to pour two whisky tumblers. "To marriage." And he handed one to Tom.

Mary poked her head into the room just as two men tipped the drinks to their mouths. "Glug those drinks down, you two. We're all ready."

The two men grinned and followed her out.

The service was quiet but reverent. Matthew sat down next to Mary after his brief part in the ceremony was over. A few pictures were taken outside before everyone returned to their cars.

Mary broached the subject of her visit to the London townhouse and Richard as Matthew drove them back to Downton in his AC two seater. The rest of the party went in the Rolls with Tom. Sybil sat up front with him and the new in-laws in the back.

"What do you mean you went to see Richard in London?" Matthew was flabbergasted. "I don't want you anywhere near that man."

Mary replied, her frustration showing. "I appreciate that Matthew and I knew you would try to talk me out of going. But I had to go. I can take care of myself. I thought I could talk him into starting divorce proceedings."

She could feel him tense beside her. "I hate being obliged to wait for him."

Matthew well knew. He took his free hand into hers and squeezed it. "What did he have to say?"

"He proposed that we continue with our affair even as I stay married to him." Mary admitted.

"He said that? Just the kind of spiteful suggestion I'd expect from him." Matthew's other hand gripped the steering wheel. "He's playing with us. How can you ever have a legitimate heir? Any child would be legally his."

"Richard intimated that you would agree to such an arrangement." Mary admitted.

"What?" Matthew's eyes darted from the road to Mary's face.

"Given your past indiscretions." Mary knew that would hurt him.

And it did. Matthew groaned aloud. "How dare he try to use that to his advantage?" His savage tone turned cold as he muttered "the bastard" under his breath.

"I only told you so we both know the kind of man he is. He'll do anything to win an argument. We can't just keep going on like this. He thinks you're too high minded and moral to fight him at his level." Mary said bluntly.

Matthew's anger chilled into a cold hearted hate as he mulled over that information. "How much do you think he actually knows? Or was he bluffing?"

Mary had tried to work that out. "He keeps everything close to his vest. He said nothing specific to me about knowing about Dorchester. It was more sly innuendo."

"I'm fairly certain at least one of the temporary servants is in his pay." Matthew disclosed. "I'm not sure which one but if that's true he could have found out a great deal about our whereabouts over the past several weeks."

"They're all dismissed though. Now that the staff is back to strength." Mary reminded him.

"Yes. But the damage might already have been done." Matthew turned into the drive at Downton.

"He can fling about his accusations at will." Mary finished his thought.

"Yes." Matthew braked and parked the car. "But we can fling it right back at him. His own transgressions can be brought into the light. And if we surprise him by admitting to our own, he'll be hoisted by his own petard."

"He won't like that at all. He hates any kind of public embarrassment." Mary grinned slyly. "Especially if he's seen as a cuckold."

"Exactly." Matthew responded with a flick of his eyebrow. "We have to make him believe we'll do just that. If we succeed, we can change the rules of the game he's playing."

"What are you thinking Matthew?" Mary knew him too well. "You're keeping something closer to your vest. What are you planning?"

Carson had arrived to greet them and open the door for Mary to step out.

"Later" Matthew whispered.

XX

Mary stayed in the room as Anna and Sybil packed her luggage for London. Several trunks would follow as they finalized plans for New York.

"Darling we'll miss you so much. The house will be empty without your shouting and outcries about women's suffrage."

Sybil smiled. "America in the process of passing the 19th Amendment for just that. And not just for women over 30."

"Do you know where you will live?" Mary sat down on the window seat.

"We have a small town home near Washington Square Park according to Tom. The newspaper set it up. Sounds perfect."

Mary's nod of her head was wistful. Sybil sat down next to her. Clasped her hand. "I do fully expect you to visit. We won't be apart for very long."

"I don't know about that." Pensively spoken, Mary gripped Sybil's hand in turn. "I feel my life has gone all topsy turvy."

"Is there a hope to right it all? I don't want to leave without you being happy as well."

"I am happy darling. Happy for you."

"You do like Tom don't you? He's a wonderful man. I wish you had more time to know him as himself rather than just Branson the chauffeur."

"We will get to know him. And value him. I promise. Mama has already expressed hope to visit her mother in Connecticut so as to include an excursion to New York City."

"And you?" Sybil pursued. "Will you and Matthew come out?"

"Matthew?" Mary spoke warily. "How could I?"

"Oh Mary," Sybil tutted. "We all know. Don't we Anna?"

And Anna was relieved not to have to continue the pretense of ignoring the conversation in the window seat. She looked over and nodded.

"What do you all know?" Mary shifted her eyes from Sybil to Anna. "What's he been saying?"

"He didn't have to say anything." Sybil got up to once again help take some personal items out of her dressing table drawer. "We all know that he's loved you like mad for years. We know that he's spend every waking hour since the war ended on figuring out a good way to end this pretense of a marriage you're stuck in."

"We're all stuck with decisions we make. I'm beginning to doubt there is a good way out of this." Mary's voice sounded more dejected than ever. "I don't want to drag Matthew's name in the mud alongside my own. After all he's been through, he doesn't deserve that."

"He never left your side during your illness." Anna countered. "He said that he'd never leave your side ever again."

Mary blinked back some tears. "I do wish sometimes I didn't love him as much as I do. That I could let him go. Find a new life for himself, a new wife to bring to Downton without all my troubles and baggage."

Sybil snorted in utter contempt. "Mary! That's utter nonsense. He will love you as long as you walk this earth. And you are the same. The two of you just need to stop mucking about and get on with it."

Anna briskly nodded agreement and returned to the packing.

"I wish it were that easy, my dear." Mary said, her shoulders slumped.

"Nothing that is easy is worth fighting. Love is worth fighting for." Sybil gripped her sister's hands again. "We must always fight for that."

Mary knew the truth of that. "Oh darling, you're so good for me." She stood up and the two sisters hugged. "I need to go talk with Matthew. See if we can get all this sorted sooner rather than later."

"See you do." Sybil declared. "Then come back and we'll have a good cry before I leave."

Mary kissed her sister's cheek and left the room.

She found Matthew in the library. He was going over the books again.

"Making any sense of them?" Mary came up and discretely rubbed his back.

"Slowly." He admitted. Looked around and knew they were alone. "Sit down next to me here."

"What's going on Matthew?" Mary asked direct. "I have a right to know."

"You most certainly do." He leaned in towards her. He began to speak.

A few minutes later, Mary felt her body shiver. She didn't know if it was in excitement or fear.

"Do you really think that will work?" Mary spoke in hushed, clipped tones. "That we could get away with that?"

Matthew shrugged. "It's the best we can hope for."

Mary allowed herself a wicked laugh. "You are brilliant, Matthew. Deviously brilliant."

"I'm not just a pretty face, my love." He retorted cheekily back.

"I didn't think you had such guile in you." She said, leaning back in the chair. "We will have to be very clever about this."

"The war taught that needs must. And this is the only way out of a … wait a minute." Matthew stopped talking and looked directly at Mary. "We?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Of course 'we'. I'm not going to let you do this alone."

"But it might get very ugly. Very ..." He paused. Licked his lips in concern. "Very personal."

Mary countered back. "It is personal. It is our very future at stake. We're a team. We'll do it together." She was not to be gainsaid.

Matthew knew when he was beaten. "We'll go to London in the morning. I will stay at my club. You might go to Rosamund's. No one must know you are in town until I ring you and we go confront Sir Richard at your town house. Attack by surprise is always a good tactic. Catch him off guard and draw his fire."

"And will we win the day?" Mary asked, the shiver of excitement returning to her body.

"Or go down fighting?" Matthew rejoined. He drew her close for a long, lingering kiss. "We'll just have to wait and see."

XX

Matthew took a sip of the gin and tonic. "So are we agreed Max?" His smooth tone of voice belied his nervousness. The idea had sounded so clear in his own mind. Even when he spoke of it to Mary, he had been forthright in the assumption that it would work.

But what if it didn't? Then he would have confessed intimate details about his and Mary's personal lives for no purpose whatsoever. And any newspaperman could be slipped the word and their story would be out there and always would be.

"We are agreed Matthew." The older man verified. "I will do my best to fulfill your needs. I will have a word with my clerk and the chief in charge of printing. It will be done by morning."

"And no one will be the wiser?" Matthew questioned. "On the hush hush?" Using a war expression.

"Quite. I will say it's a test of some new type of newsprint. We won't have any names." He reassured the young Earl of Grantham.

"Very good." Matthew stood up. "Once all this is over, we should have you back to Downton. For the shooting maybe?"

The two men shook hands on it.

Matthew exited the club by the front stairs. His cane tapping on the sidewalk as he walked down the street to his own room at the Oxford and Cambridge Club. He seldom used his place but recently with events taking him back and forth to the capital, he was becoming more of a regular.

Adjusting to civilian life had been difficult. The added bereavement of Robert's death and his own accession to an earldom had only made things more challenging.

Oddly enough Matthew took it all in stride. The running of the estate, the transition had given him new things to think about. New ideas took hold on how to best keep the assets of Downton bringing in money for generations to come. Death duties were still too be paid. That was an issue to be taken up very soon; preferably when he and Mary were married and they could deal with this costly issue together. Matthew was not entirely sure Mary would agree with the proposals Murray suggested to pay up.

Something to look forward to, rather than wallow in the past.

And this as well. If this worked… all things for himself and Mary would be possible.

A lopsided grin on his face, he tapped his cane to the sidewalk and flicked it up into his hand. The future would be all their own.

XX

"What is this garbage?" Richard's lip positively curled at the ends as he read the headline. **Wife of Important Newspaper Baron Conducting _Affaire D'amour _Under His Very Nose. **Matthew had handed him a copy of the _Daily Express_. The article went on to describe, without names, a lurid tale of passion and adultery by a lady of society and a newly made peer of the realm.

"Tomorrow's headline Sir Richard, I assure you. Not garbage." Matthew's imperturbable enunciation irritated Mary's husband.

"There are no names." Richard dryly observed. "Not much here."

"There will be by tomorrow I assure you. I have more to tell Lord Beaverbrook. A lot more." Matthew tone turned caustic.

Richard looked to Mary. She met his eyes with a cool gaze. "You a party to this? You'll go down with me."

"So be it. I'd rather go down fighting than let you win." Mary snapped.

"I don't believe you." Richard retorted. "You don't like scandal any more than I do. That's why we're married in the first place. You don't want your name, your family's name dragged through the mud."

Mary shifted ever so slightly beside Matthew. "I might have been so." She replied honestly. "At one point in my life. But not now. I want to be rid of you."

"You'll be mocked and made to appear a slut in the eyes of the society you hold so dear." He cut.

Matthew's eyes narrowed, his fist curled. "No." His voice cold as ice, "that will not happen. Instead you will be outed as an opportunist who used a vulnerable young woman most ill to satisfy his own grasping need to climb the greasy pole of success. The very folks whom you wish to impress will be sickened by such an underhanded attempt at invading their ranks."

"That's rich coming from one who came from the same rung of society as I." Richard observed. "We both know you use every weapon in your arsenal to get what you want from this life."

"I don't use people or play tricks to get what I want." Matthew replied.

"Don't play the innocent with me. You were an army officer. You probably shot your own men for cowardice. Under orders of course you can say. Excuse it away. Well I can say I tried to protect Mary from your shameful seduction and abandonment of her."

Mary's snort of derision met Richard's ears. "Your twisted interpretation you mean."

Richard shrugged. "That's all it is. You tell your tale, I tell mine. I'd feel no guilt in exposing you. Are you willing to be judged the court of public opinion? I very much doubt it. That's why I suggested a more private arrangement. Didn't she tell you?" He turned to Matthew.

"Yes." Matthew replied dryly. "But I have more scruples than to condescend to that. And more care for Mary's honour and integrity than to ask such a thing of her."

"You'd rather drag her name through the mud?" Richard threatened back. "Which is what will happen, if I go ahead with the writ of divorce."

Matthew breathed out silently. Finally they were getting to the heart of the matter.

"I'd rather get it all out in the open and done with. You'll be very surprised I'm sure by the results of such a public judgement. Sure we will have a difficult couple of months. But then society will be yawning at our _scandalare_ as they'll call it, and on to the next one. They are that shallow and boring, I assure you." Matthew proclaimed. "I am the Earl of Grantham. I can do as I please. People will still want to come shoot on my estate, their wives will still want to greet the Dowager Countess at a party. It will be covered up far more quickly than you could ever imagine."

"While you Sir Richard" and he dragged his name out with biting sarcasm, "will never be able to hold your head up again in polite society."

"Why is that?" Richard inquired with open scorn. "I see nothing here that would undermine my authority as owner and editor of several newspapers. A straying wife nothing more… "

"I'll tell all about your war profiteering." Mary pronounced. "Everyone may have being doing it during the war, but now the chickens are coming home to roost. There are government inquiries all the time about those who turned a blind eye and an open palm. And plenty of people willing to talk about it and name those more important. You accepted money and advertising from known manufacturers of shoddy good. You allowed good men to be killed so you could make capital out of it. The public won't like that."

"And for all we know," Matthew interjected, "that's just the tip of the iceberg. Who knows what will turn up?" His eyes narrowed, "or what we could just make up."

"You wouldn't dare." But Richard's hand began to imperceptibly shake. "You have no real proof."

"I don't need any to tell your rival papers do I?" Matthew sneered. "They'll eat it up. Just the accusations will be enough to set their dogs out on the scent. Are you willing to risk what they might find?"

Silence.

Then Matthew realized they had won the day.

"What do you want?" Richard asked brusquely. "To suppress this headline. To stop these stories from going forward."

Matthew's eyes slowly closed. He sighed in utter contentment. Then opened them again. "You shall allow Mary to bring a writ of divorce against you. You will agree to a story about adultery, which for all I know might as well be true, and abandonment of the marriage home and bed." He twisted the knife with that. "We will go through the courts to obtain a divorce. But Mary's name will be unsullied."

"And yours as well," Richard taunted softly. "You are far more Machiavellian than I imagined." He took a deep breath. "You'll get your divorce. I now want this over with as much as you. I want you out of my life."

He turned to Mary. "I know you won't believe this, but I did love you. Once. More than you knew."

Mary relented just a bit, "Then I hope you find happiness."

"We'll draw up the papers tomorrow." Matthew put on his hat and motioned for Mary to follow him to the door. "Expect the writ of divorce to be in your hands by midday. Good night." He took the front page newspaper page from Richard's hand.

Once outside Matthew felt the weight of the world lift from his shoulders. He could breathe in the fresh spring air. It felt good.

Mary felt a combination of being shattered into a million pieces and an unexpected giddiness of spirit. "Must be the shock." She said to Matthew as they made their way to his car. "I'm tingling all over."

"Me too." Matthew replied as he opened the passenger side door. "It's the sensation of relief. We've done it. You were marvelous back there. I don't think I could have done it without you."

Mary's face was a joy to behold. She was grinning madly. She was, for the first time in a very long time, completely happy. She got in and waited for Matthew to start the engine.

"I can't believe you managed to get Lord Beaverbrook to concoct that sham newspaper page." Mary exclaimed. "It won the day for us."

"Max was delighted to do it." Matthew smirked slyly. "Anything to eviscerate the competition."

"And he won't publish it?" Mary queried. "If he's as unscrupulous as Richard…"

"No he won't." Matthew assured her. "I have his word on it." He paused, "Except…."

"Except what?" Mary grew slightly alarmed.

"Except for the war profiteering bit. Once the divorce is settled and finalized, I told Max he'd be free to examine the details of those accusations for himself. That way Richard will be able to defend himself against the charges."

"But you didn't tell Richard that." Mary was astonished at Matthew's ruse.

Mathew glanced over. "He didn't ask, did he? That was the tricky bit, I'll admit. But then you withhold what you want. Disclose only the information that will best meet your own arguments. It's then up to him to expose any weaknesses. He is the supposed investigative journalist isn't' he? I just couldn't let those accusations go. Too many good men died because of shoddy boots and poorly made weapons."

"What if he tries to cause trouble again?" Mary pursued.

"He can try. But you will have your divorce. We will be married by then. I don't see he has any reason to stir it all up again. He'll just look resentful and rather foolish."

"So it's all over?" Mary blinked. "I can hardly believe it."

Matthew pulled the car down a side street overlooking a small park. "It's all over my darling. Within a fortnight. Then within six weeks we'll be married. I've already talked to the rector at St. Michael's and All Angels and he's agreed that we can take our vows privately. In the parlor, like Tom and Sybil did at St. Anne's."

Mary's eyes were shining. "Matthew…"

And his lips were on hers. Fierce, loving, passionate. She returned his kiss pressing her lips to his. The ecstasy of freedom making it all that much sweeter.

XX

_On to the wedding! And the honeymoon… _

_As always reviews are so so very welcome. This story is close to my heart. I hope it is still the same with you. I realize we as a Downton fandom are drifting apart and moving on to other fandoms and ships… but I still hope MM have a place in your hearts as they do in mine. I couldn't let their affairs be dragged through the divorce courts… I love them too much! And Richard deserved his comeuppance. Yes they had to compromise, but he did not win the day. _


	25. Ch 25:The Only Boy and Girl in the World

_Hello. I know I've neglected this story. So here we are, picking up after the confrontation with Richard.. rated M at the end_

XX

Matthew eyed the uniform critically. It had been pressed and polished by William earlier that morning and now hung on the dressing stand. He was in his new bedroom. Larger, a corner room. Away from the one the old earl shared with Cora.

His own space.

He was the Earl of Grantham. He still felt a fraud.

Matthew fingered the regimental buttons.

This part of his life, though. This part he knew all too well.

"Looks splendid Mason." It had been a bit loose, given Matthew's long bouts with illness and recovery, but William had seen it altered with some help from Anna.

"Spit and hard labour." William grinned. "Should do you proud."

"I didn't think I'd be back in uniform so soon after the war." Matthew grimaced as his leg spasmed.

"Doing good work, sir." William took the brush and guided his hand along the shoulders of the tunic. "Burying the honoured dead."

"Absolutely." Matthew knew the truth of it. He had been asked by General Wagg to join the contingent of Imperial War Graves Commission personnel to France to tour the newly created cemeteries. They were to set guidelines for uniformity of headstone, lettering, and location of the cemeteries. In addition, he was to help set the legalities allowing British soldiers to be buried within the confines of existent cemeteries in Belgium and France.

Matthew needed to get up to speed in London and then make the crossing for the extensive trip to France. It should last several weeks if not months.

Just what Matthew wanted.

Not that he wanted to be away from Downton. Or Mary. But at last the divorce was making its way through the courts. It would be best, Mary's lawyer told Matthew in private, if he was nowhere near the matter. Nor should Mary be seen in his presence.

Thus his trip to France was hastily arranged. General Wagg had been after Major Crawley for months, but Matthew had put him off. But now that Mary had left her shared London home with Richard and was returning permanently to Downton, Matthew could no longer be in residence. So he agreed to take up the post with the IWGC.

By the time he got back the divorce would be complete. And they could finally plan their future. Cora promised to be with Mary the entire time so she'd have support. Isobel and Edith also said they'd be in the gallery every day of the proceedings and see Mary was not alone.

"Hope the old leg holds up." Matthew scowled again as he tried putting weight down on the leg. He tried putting on the boots. It throbbed, he had to admit. The powders meant to relieve some of the pain helped a bit, but not enough. His London Harley Street specialist also concerned him with his talk of stress fractures or clots being potential dangers with extensive use of the leg over rough terrain.

Matthew was determined to go in any event. He knew that the more he exercised it, the better the leg felt. So he figured if he watched himself, he would come back in one piece.

Back to Mary.

To their wedding. He already had met with Mr. Travis of St. Michael's and All Angels who agreed to marry them in his parlor at the rectory. They would do it as soon as possible. Matthew's trip was at most two to three months long. If all went according to plan, Mary's marriage to the odious Carlisle would be done and dusted within six weeks.

There would be some time in between.

And then the wedding.

And Matthew would spend the rest of his life making it all up to Mary.

All of the time wasted apart.

All of his fears and suspicions.

All of their shared pain.

He'd never rest until her life was nothing but happiness.

Enriched with love, with children, with laughter and life.

He looked forward to it all enormously.

Matthew looked over at William who was bringing Matthew's dark blue suit from the wardrobe. Mason strode confidently across the room.

Matthew took off the boots. Enormously relieved, he handed them back to his valet who stepped back into the depths of the dressing cupboards to put them away for the time being.

"How are you finding things Mason?" Matthew was frankly fascinated. He had worked with him pacing out the number of steps from the wardrobe to the mirror, from the mirror over to the cabinets containing the cufflinks and other dressing paraphernalia. He had two of the younger servants remove the single bed, the one some older generation of Crawley men had used when his wife no longer wanted him to inhabit hers.

Matthew said simply it was in Mason's way. But it was also because he knew that would never be his life.

Not when he shared it with Mary.

"Just fine, sir. I did have a spot of trouble finding my way out of the dressing room and to the staircase, but with some help from Payne I realized the echo of footfalls increased as we approached the landing. He walked it several times and I listened. I'm very glad you gave me that book by James Holman. Daisy is reading it to me. His use of sounds as a means to find his way around has helped a great deal, though I for the life of me still find it fascinating he made so many travels around the globe alone."

"I'm glad. I thought you might. It's too bad he's forgotten by history. I found that in a bookstall near St. Dunstan's when I last visited London. I was there to make a donation to their efforts." Matthew straightened his tie.

"They do good work. Wasn't sure where I'd be in hospital. But they saw me right." Mason felt his way along the glass case. Put the unselected tie clip inside.

Matthew grabbed his cigarette case. "Where is my lighter?" He asked Mason, rummaging through his night drawer. He had picked up a couple of trench lighters that he continued to use.

"I had them sent down for the pantry boy to refill with fresh flints and lighter fluid." Mason replied as he moved to help Matthew into his jacket.

Matthew found his matchbox vesta case and put it in his trousers. The silver matchbox holder had been a gift from Margaret, during their time at Montreuil sur Mer. When Simon was alive and they had a day off and went shopping in Paris and a sumptuous dinner at Maxim's to celebrate Matthew's 30th birthday.

He had just received a letter from Margaret. She was still in America and had announced she was engaged to be married again. To a college professor at Princeton University. She had taken a job there as a secretary, though in Matthew's opinion that was far beneath her capabilities, and had met Dr. Frederick Hearn at a faculty dinner. She was very happy. She hoped Matthew would be as well. As soon as he and Mary could also be married.

She wished him every happiness in life. He deserved it so.

Matthew wished her the same.

How much he surprisingly owed Margaret. She had been the means by which Mary could reach out to Matthew. To clear the air between them. To allow them to realize they had a future together.

How odd life was.

He buttoned the jacket and fixed his handkerchief in the pocket.

"Right," Matthew said. "This time tomorrow I'll be on the train. I wish you could come, but I think it would be too difficult."

Mason's clouded eyes met his. "Plenty to do here, sir. Anna and I are working out a system for the brushing, cleaning, and ironing. It's the little details I miss. A spot on the collar here, a wrinkle there."

"I'm sure I don't notice anything amiss." Matthew tried to reassure. "I'm not fussy like some."

Mason stiffened ever so slightly. And Matthew realized he had put his foot in it again. Just like when he first came to Downton and questioned the purpose of the butler. Robert had reminded him then that all had a part to play, and they must be allowed to play it. Mason was proud of his job. Of his role as valet to the new Earl of Grantham. Matthew had rather thoughtlessly, lessened that pride.

He really would have to watch that.

"I will expect, however, all to be sorted upon my return." Matthew used his command voice. The one from the trenches. From the war. "Right Mason?"

Mason stood just a little taller. Almost at attention. "It will all be done to satisfaction, your Lordship." A smile crept across his lips.

"Very good." Smirking slightly at appeasing Mason, Matthew left the room. He still had so much to learn.

XX

Mary was beginning to breathe again. The divorce proceeding was almost at an end. She had given her testimony.

"My husband abandoned the marital home. He informed me he had kept a woman in London in apartments bought by him for some time. This circumstance is intolerable."

Thus her petition for divorce.

Her voice had been steady. Strong. Clear.

She looked direct at Richard.

He would not intimidate her.

Mary had no real proof that this confection of lies they concocted in private was or was not true. For all she knew Richard did have a string of women he played around with. Or, if he was to be believed he was as celibate as a monk and was only going along to prevent Mary any further pain.

That had made Matthew seethe. And Mary roll her eyes back of her head. He was doing it to avoid Lord Beaverbrook's rival papers from printing truth after truth about Richard's own manipulations of their marriage and the lining of his own pockets with war profiteering.

The judgment of the court would be forthcoming.

Cora and Mary sat in the hotel restaurant with Edith and Isobel. Violet, not feeling her best, remained at home. Sybil and Tom were making the long crossing to America. Her absence was felt by all.

The women were silent. The day had been wearing on their collective psyche.

Mary sipped her tea. "Well that's that." She said with a quiet finality.

Isobel looked up. "Do we know how long?"

"A matter of hours Mr. Harrison said. It should be today. No one is defending. Richard has agreed the marriage is broken irretrievably. We should get the decree absolute forthwith." Mary said with a poise Isobel admired.

Isobel did not ask the question she most wanted to know. How did Matthew and Mary manage to manipulate Richard into this divorce? Matthew had kept so much close to the vest recently. She knew something had been brewing. His blue eyes had been fierce the last time they spoke. There was a fire there. One that would not be quenched. For Mary. To protect Mary. That he had wronged her.

And he must see it right.

Mary as well played the game of ignorance. That she did not have a confrontation with her husband that forced his hand in ways Isobel could only imagine. And be pleased by.

Richard deserved no one's pity.

Mary was to be rid of him. Mary was to be divorced with no stain upon her copybook.

She had to hand it to them.

They deserved their happiness to come. She would telegraph Matthew when the judge finalized the divorce. He was away in France with the War Graves Commission. Already over a month gone, he was now in the Pas de Calais, near the Lillers Communal Cemetery helping to set up the extension for British soldiers who died at Loos in 1915. Matthew' first real battle. The one where he lost his innocence and won the Military Cross.

The memories must be unbearable. Isobel tried not to worry about his mental state.

He sent letters to Mary through Isobel. Mostly private, Mary would read parts out to her. That he was well. Busy. Hoped all was well back at home and that "the great matter sped along." That was Matthew's ironic reference to her divorce, reflecting the old and what seemed so silly now discussion of Matthew's worthiness as a suitor.

They were touring with Sir Reginald Theodore Blomfield and Sir Edwin Landseer Lutyens, Matthew said, the principal architects of the Imperial War Graves Commission. Lutyens was the designer of the temporary monument to the dead, the Cenotaph in Whitehall, which was to be the centerpiece for the Victory Parade set for July. Matthew would most probably miss it, Isobel knew. He'd still be in France.

She worried about him. Between the lines Isobel heard his melancholy. Death was all around him. In the mud slogged open graves. The landscape dead of trees, of grass, of anything that resembled life. Bones strewn about, unburied. She knew. She knew because she had toured with some of the American Food Relief administrators earlier that year. They had kept her from the worst of it. Matthew would not be so protected.

Isobel held out her hand Mary across the restaurant table. "It will soon be over, my dear."

Mary gave a fragile smile. "Yes almost all over."

She could hardly believe it.

It would be over. Matthew would be home soon.

They would be married.

Life moved on. At one time she thought it would be an endless sequence of days. Days without any colour. Without any flavour.

But now, she and Matthew would be together.

And life beckoned.

Cora spoke quietly. "Your Papa would have been so proud of your strength."

Mary eyes were downcast. Her lips trembled. "I'm quite exhausted really. Ready for it all to be over."

Edith ordered another pot of tea and scones. "Sybil would say the same. I know she was so torn up that she could not be here."

Mary cheered at the change of topic. "When do they dock?"

"Saturday. The Aquitania is making good time according her last radiogram. They went to a sumptuous meal last evening with some rich American industrialists." Edith turned to Mary. "She said to thank you and Matthew again for the First Class fares. It's quite putting Tom out, she says, but then notes she thinks it's just for show. He's loving it."

Mary accepted the refill Edith offered. "They deserve some luxury. Sybil worked tirelessly during the war. And Tom volunteered in the last year as an ambulance driver. So they earned a treat before they have to settle down to real life."

"I think Papa would have been pleased. Of course I don't think he'd ever have traveled out to meet them in America." Edith commented to her mother.

"No. He's such a home body. He hardly wanted to go to London during the war." Cora drawled. "But I will. I'm so looking forward to see family again." Cora and Edith were to travel within six months once Sybil and Tom settled down.

"It will do you a world of good, Mama." Mary pointed out. "Matthew and I want to visit as well." She said it with such certainty, no one demurred. They had all gotten quite used to the idea that it was now just a matter of time before their marriage.

"You've spoke to Mr. Travis?" Isobel asked, out of touch with recent events. She had been in London recently with the Food Relief.

"Matthew did before leaving for France. He had a long discussion about such a marriage be recognized as a special dispensation and that this new commitment be a life-long faithful partnership." Mary related the conversation as was told to her by Matthew over the telephone. "He was satisfied with Matthew's responses and has agreed that after a period of time has elapsed, perhaps as little as three months, we may proceed. We will have a small ceremony, similar to Sybil and Tom's."

Isobel knew that was comforting to Mary's family. Part of their tradition had been marriages in the village church. Given that was not an option, the rector's parlor was the next best thing.

"Then if all the fates collide, you may all travel together to America. Wouldn't that be wonderful." Isobel had already said she would not be at all upset that she remained at home. She and Violet would hold the fort at Downton.

"Yes…." Mary replied, her voice sotto and reflective. "I will hold onto that." And she squeezed Isobel's hand. She was so glad Matthew's mother was on their side.

And all her family. "I know I don't say this enough," Mary said to the assembled women. "But I am very grateful. It may not last," a slow smile across her lips, "I know I can be rather willful and selfish, but this ordeal has been made lighter by your love and support. Thank you. I know Matthew feels the same."

Cora's arms enfolded around her daughters. "The Crawley family stands together."

XX

Matthew's headache was getting worse. But there was still an endless list of things to do today. It was one of his last with the IWGC. He was to board the ferry home to England in a few days.

Home to Downton.

To Mary. And their marriage. Her divorce absolute had been decreed. It had been two months and a bit since Mary's nightmare in court. She had been the stormbraver he knew she'd be.

She was so strong. He wondered sometimes if she'd have to be strong for the both of them. This trip had been more emotionally draining that even he had anticipated.

Loos had been the worst. Traipsing the grounds where he had first faced the crucible of war. Only four years ago, yet it seemed simultaneously like yesterday and an eternity ago. The smells had brought it all back. The damp of the ground, the lingering odour of chloride of lime and creosol.

Bringing it all back. Visceral images of rotting carcasses. The scuttling rats. The stench of latrines. The fact he had been the beneficiary of a dead man's shoes. He walked around, trying to exorcise the demons of war.

It was so quiet, he realized. And that was very disconcerting. He was used to noise. The pounding of the guns. The rat a tat of the machine guns. The yelling and carousing of soldiers at rest.

The silence made him nervous.

The landscape was so bleak. Bombed to oblivion. A house ripped of its identity as a home in the distance. The surrounding field pitted with shell holes and unexploded mines. They all had to be careful. He had heard a bird sing a melodic tune from a branch of dead tree.

Life among the dead.

They had arranged with the local community of Lillers to add an extension to their stunningly ornate communal cemetery for British soldiers. Over a hundred would be interred eventually. The row upon row headstones. The tomb of unknown enscripted, Their Name Liveth for Evermore.

It was good work.

On to the Somme he had met up with some pals from the regiment. They were on a tour amongst themselves to reconnect with their past life. To move on into their future. All of them paid their respects to fallen comrades walking the trench line around Fromelles. Then toasted the same dead at night, getting drunk and singing songs learned in the cafes and maisons of France.

Matthew had joined in. He remembered long nights where Simon had tried to teach him the correct lyrics.

_La Madelon pour nous n'est pas sevère_

_Quand on lui prend la taille ou le menton_

_Elle rit c'est tout l'mal qu'elle sait faire_

_Madelon, Madelon, Madelon_

When he had been at his most morose, feeling he had let the love of his life slip out of his fingers as Mary had married another. The comradeship of these friends had helped him through. He toasted their memory.

The meetings with the architects and local government officials were tedious. Matthew relieved some of that tension by writing to his mother and adding private missives to Mary. He spoke of his love for her. His desire to get home as soon as possible.

And now it was finally to be. He missed Mary. His body ached to hold her. She healed him. She had ever been his reason for living.

Soon, my love…Mathew said to himself as he once again started in on the details of the mandate of the CWGC with local officials. Soon we will be together for all time.

XX

The rector's voice was quiet but strong as he spoke the words.

_DEARLY beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this Congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy Matrimony_

Matthew's hands entwined with Mary's as the words were spoken.

They were actually doing this. His hands were shaking.

_WILT thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?_

His rich toned response,_ "I will" _brought tears to Mary's eyes. He had waited for so long for this moment. His eyes were unblinking as they gazed upon Mary. They bespoke a love enduring, a passion never to be unrequited.

So different from her rushed registry office marriage to Carlisle.

The marriage vows of the Book of Common Prayer comforting. The setting quiet, the Rectory's parlor fitting just themselves and Cora, Isobel, Violet, and Edith.

She made her own vows in return.

They plighted their troth.

The exchange of the ring to her left hand. _With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow_

Mary had gifted Matthew a small banded ring as a symbol of their love. He would wear it on the little finger of his left hand. _Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder. _The rector looked out the assembled small congregation.

They prayed. And it was done.

Matthew's lips touched Mary's lightly. A broad smile broke out across his face. It was the happiest Mary had ever seen him.

Mary moved to embrace her mother. Matthew first turned to Mr. Travis to thank him, then hugged his mother.

They then all retired for a meal at Downton. The wedding cake layered and designed with latticed flowers. Mrs. Patmore, Carson, and Mrs. Hughes had laid down the best silver and Cora's wedding china.

Cora promised Mary that they would travel to London to pick out her own pattern.

"The new Countess of Grantham needs her own china service."

"Mama…" And Mary's eyes welled with tears. Her dearest Papa was so missed. His absence at the service a vacuum.

Carson, however, had ever been a parental influence on Mary. She had come down the stairs at Downton earlier to see him waiting to escort her to the waiting car to take her and the family to the rectory. "Will I do Carson?" She had teasingly asked.

He had, in his magnificent stentorian voice replied, "Very nicely, my lady."

Carson stood proudly in the music room as the family gathered after the meal.

Mary moved over to speak privately to him. "Will you extend our gratitude to all the staff? His Lordship and I are very grateful for their hard work."

"I will do so gladly, m'lady." Carson looked very pleased indeed. "We all were very happy to do so."

Mary sat down next to Violet. Her grandmother was seated as the day had been wearying.

"So it's done." Violet declaimed with emphasis. "I am so pleased. You have looked like Juliet upon awakening in the tomb for far too long. I no longer want to see that expression upon your face. Now is the time for happiness."

"I promise Granny. You have been such a tower of strength to me. In the dark days of the war, you told me to keep faith." Mary kissed the older woman's cheek.

"Go to him, my dear," Violet tilted her head towards Matthew who's clear blue eyes beckoned to meet his wife's from across the room. "He waits for you."

Mary gave her one last hug, then made her way into her husband's awaiting arms.

"Happy my dear?" She asked, already knowing the answer from the goofy grin he had maintained on his face ever since the ceremony ended.

"What do you think?" His hand glided around her back and came to rest along the curvature of her waist. He shivered slightly. Delighted he could finally do that in public.

She took his left hand into her own. "You know Crawley men have never worn wedding bands."

He responded with passion, "Then it will be a new tradition all my own. I want to be bound to you body and soul." His voice using that low register that made her skin tingle.

"Do you think they'd mind if we went upstairs?" He whispered into her ear.

Mary's eyes danced. "Let me tell Mama. I'll meet you at the door."

And so they slipped out and made their way to the bedroom they would now share as husband and wife.

Matthew removed Mary's wedding dress carefully. Though appropriate for a second wedding, the stitching and embroidery was exquisite. Anna had worked her magic once again and Matthew did not want to damage it in his rushed need to disrobe his bride.

"My darling…." His whispered endearments as her bare shoulder appeared and he stroked it first with his fingers and then his lips.

She fell into his arms. The rest of the clothing came off. They moved to the bed where their bodies curved together as spoons. Matthew swept his hands along her torso. Feeling her breasts. Taking each one into his fingertips in turn. His grip was strong, but delicate. He wanted to feel everything. To take his time. But his body demanded otherwise.

Hers did as well. She spoke desperately in his ear, "We have all the time in the world, my love. But right now I want you inside me as I've never wanted anything else."

They could not have full intercourse in Dorchester. This would be the final consummation of their love, their patience.

Matthew needed no more encouragement. He shoved her thighs apart and she fit herself inside his groin. She felt him take her inside. Taut with desire, longing, and need she felt only relief from the torture of not having him. Of wanting him more than she ever wanted anything in this life.

They were together, their bodies entwined in the act of love making. She felt him take her. Push and grunt as his climax approached. He was like a man possessed and she felt every nerve in her body respond. They moved as one. Her breaths short. She crested on waves of intensity. His body's weight, his heat driving her on.

"Oh God…" He grunted loudly as the peak sensations pulsated through his body. He was lost to everything else.

When it was over, they felt satisfied, and yet pleased that this was only the beginning.

Mary curved her body into his shoulder.

He kissed her hair, drew in her scent. "I will love you until the last breath leaves my body." He said. "You were my reason to stay alive. I want to make you so happy." She felt his fear that he might not.

She drew him close to her body, hearing his heart beat fast. "I am the happiest woman on the face of the earth tonight, my love." But couldn't adding, "especially knowing you'll teach me to drive that new snappy chariot you picked up on your way back from London."

Matthew looked astonished. "I didn't think you'd care about such things especially as we replaced Tom with a new chauffeur."

She gave him a cheeky grin. "We can't have Edith have all the driving fun."

Matthew laughed and snuggled close. He wanted to be astonished by Mary for ever.

They had all night.

They had their entire life.

It was done.

Finally done.

XX

_I've visited the Lillers Communal Cemetery and Extension to attend the grave of a family relative who died at the battle of Loos so I incorporated that into the story_.  
_This story is my favorite among all that I've written. It's the one I thought of first. It's the one that has my heart. I love reading your reviews and observations. Thank you._


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